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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736451">Gioia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabrinaT/pseuds/SabrinaT'>SabrinaT</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:42:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabrinaT/pseuds/SabrinaT</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Edith MacMillan is rich, beautiful, and one of New York’s most elligible single women. Her brother Clive handled everything to do with business, leaving her the room to visit a very specific tailor, and to fall in love with a very dangerous man.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby, Luca Changretta/Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Rich people have a terrible habit of procreating, and of parading their obnoxious children around Central Park, for everyone to see, for everyone to ogle, stop and compliment. For young single women, it was a bit like window shopping, a way of shaping their future, of knowing what they wanted: two boys and a girl? A nanny or two? Twins? </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I want a girl. That’s all I know” Edith said, letting out a good deal of smoke from her cigarette. She never smoked at home, but once she got out the door, it was all she did. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“A girl? But girls are so... fussy. And demanding” Jocelyn countered, frowning. There was a mother, right in front of them, who apparently had no help, and had resorted to tying a rope around her toddler, like a dog’s leash. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And who better to deal with fussy than me, the fussiest of them all? The difference, Jocelyn dear, is that I’m a spoiled princess, but I admit it; you don’t” Edith chuckled. She was not wrong, but miss Jocelyn Dune would never feed her ego by agreeing. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You are spoiled. You are probably the richest girl in all New York, so I guess it isn’t all your fault” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of New York? No, of Poughkeepsie, maybe. I do have my dreams, though. Of being the richest woman of all the United States. And I want all the diamonds, all the dresses, and all the hats I lay my eyes on” Edith stated, getting up suddenly. Jocelyn, ever the loyal companion, got up as well, and followed her best friend, even if she didn’t have the faintest idea of where they were going. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And how are you going to achieve that?” miss Dune enquired, hiding her mockery behind her gloved hand. “By marrying someone even richer than you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I have other methods. But if a truly wealthy, good-looking man wants to marry me... well, who am I to deny such a request? Especially if he’s handsome. I cannot, and will not, resist a handsome man in a good suit “</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What’s with you and suits? If the bank account is interesting, he could wear burlap for all I care” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh Jocelyn... seriously, you’re so simple. And I say this with all the love in the world” Edith concluded, sighing loudly. “We’re going to visit my ticket to bigger and better things. With some luck, I’ll show you the particular allure of a handsome man in a good suit. Just wait and see” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jocelyn Dune rolled her eyes, unfortunately used to Edith dictating their every step. There were girls who would die to be this close to the MacMillan heiress, and she was not about to give up on the social standing simply because she could be quite unpleasant. Besides, what did she mean about having other methods of making money? Why would she want to? Didn’t she have everything she wanted, down to her undergarments? And why were they turning the corner to 7th Avenue, when there was no one there they knew? That block was a bit shadier than their usual seamstresses’ studios, who went to the MacMillan residence anyways. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The shop Edith seemed to be looking for ended up being little more than a hole on the wall, leading to a flight of stairs, descending into complete blackness. The way she walked said that she’d been there plenty, but Jocelyn was a complete stranger in the musty environment. There wasn’t a single noise, not even a rat (thank God), nor steps, nor...</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Edith MacMillan. This is Jocelyn Dune, my friend” Edith spoke out of nowhere, when the stairs gave way to a dimly lit landing. Standing there, guarding what seemed to be a heavily reinforced door, two slim, yet tall men, with olive skin and heavy black hair. In their hands, strapped to their torsos, machine guns. Actual machine guns, the type that would kill her from a very good range. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Edith, what is going on?” miss Dune herself asked her friend, her voice a mere whisper. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Miss MacMillan, welcome” one of the men uttered, and both lowered their heads. Edith herself smiled, and advanced to the door, pushing it open. Jocelyn followed, her heart beating in her throat. Even if those people knew Edith, what was stopping them from killing them?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Is that Edith? Edith, welcome” this time, it was a woman’s voice, the kind of voice a mother had. Jocelyn herself, who was not one, knew it too well: the woman who had given birth to her was a suffocating nuisance. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mrs. Changretta, hi. This is my friend Jocelyn Dune” Edith MacMillan said, walking up the the counter, and placing her hands on it firmly. The other woman, the mother, wasn’t visible, but the sound of steps meant she was approaching. Finally, about a minute later, she was visible: a short, kind-looking older woman, with grown up children. She dressed modestly, in black, a veil over her head. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Pleasure to meet you” Jocelyn replied, more out of habit than actual sentiment. The woman looked over her, analysing, and didn’t seem to be too displeased, but wasn’t euphoric either, by any means. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And you. My name is Audrey Changretta, and me and Edith have known each other for quite a bit, haven’t we?” mrs. Changretta informed, putting on a pair of glasses, and looking at Edith with a much more satisfied expression. Clearly, and as always, there was a favourite, and it was Edith. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We have. And I’m very glad that’s the case. Jocelyn was curious about my little hobbies. So I brought her here” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s good, very good. We like newcomers” mrs. Changretta said, winking at Edith, without any humour whatsoever. If the black garments didn’t say it, that look on her face screamed it: a widow. “How was the champagne at your last party?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Divine! Like the party itself, actually. See, Josie, it was mrs. Changretta who supplied the beautiful champagne and other beverages for my birthday party” Edith informed, her eyes sparkling as they always did when she thought of parties in her honour, where everyone’s attention was hers. “But, mrs. Changretta, I must protest: your son kindly delivered the bottles, but refused to stay. Is it something I’ve done?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, no... my Luca, he’s just a very busy man” the older woman responded, and... could it be? A twinkle in her eye? Of course, speaking about her child would do that, but there was something else; something like... hope. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course, I understand. Is he here? Or at the docks?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The docks. Do you need more champagne? Maybe some gin, or wine?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Some more of that Italian wine I tried last time I was here, if it’s not an inconvenience. About three cases, if that’s possible?” Edith requested, writing down her order on a piece of paper, and handing it to mrs. Changretta, along with a cheque. “There are some other things on there, from other clients”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, yes, he’ll be able to get this quickly” the widow nodded, looking over the paper. “I’ll get this to him” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you. Also, please tell Luca that I am beyond thankful for the brooch. It is gorgeous” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There it was, yet again: Jocelyn saw it, clear as day in the middle of the darkness and humidity: acknowledgement, hope, nostalgia, and the smallest hint of happiness. This Changretta woman loved her son, it was obvious, he was her whole world; and, whoever Luca was, his mother wanted Edith for him, as much as she wanted to breathe, and certainly a lot more than she wanted to live. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He said it matched your eyes. Please, don’t tell on me; he wouldn’t like to know you were privy to his reasoning behind the gift” mrs. Changretta replied, a kind arm around Edith.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Oh yeah, there was no mistaking it: the alcohol dealer, Italian no doubt, but with a vague British accent, wanted Edith MacMillan to be her daughter-in-law. As if one of the richest women in the country could fall in love with a gangster and a criminal. But Jocelyn Dune was forgetting one thing: the man did have a fine taste for jewels.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A bit NSFW</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Edith always sat on sofas sideways. Nothing could persuade her to sit straight, and if she adjusted her body, she would go back to the same position. It was elegant, maybe a little pretentious, but refined, and highly seductive. Men liked looking at her, liked speaking to her, and loved to make her laugh. Josie, who was considerably less interesting (not less beautiful, but just less gifted at socializing), hated her for it. Right now, they were alone at the MacMillan townhouse, having some tea, and it was still as obvious as ever that Edith was some sort of higher entity, with a style which was unavailable for everyone else. </p><p>"Do you think we'll ever be able to drink without the cops coming after us?" Josie asked, looking around the living room, sipping on tea. She was still slightly shaken by the detour to 7th Avenue, and by the sight of the machine guns. She had never been in the presence of crime, let alone criminals. Well, unless you counted illegal alcohol, which she consumed regularly. </p><p>"I don't know" Edith sighed, kicking off her heels and taking a deep breath. Now that she didn't have her coat on, Josie could see a brooch she hadn't seen before, and it had to be the one the Italian man had given her. </p><p>"What was all that? No one is around, you can tell me" </p><p>"I help them find clients. The uh... the son, Luca... came up to me at a nightclub once, one of the illegal ones, and told me he'd seen me on the society magazines. Asked me if I was interested in trying some better quality booze. I said yes, and that's it" the heiress informed, almost as if it didn't matter, although it was the most important thing she had ever said in her life. </p><p>"Do you make any money from it?" miss Dune enquired, full of curiosity. Her family had a bit of money, but not nearly as much as the MacMillans. The idea of one of them making money on the side was nearly offensive. </p><p>"Money? Yeah, I guess I do make a bit of money, I've got it hidden at our bank, in an account no one else knows about" miss MacMillan retorted, full of something very akin to dismissal. </p><p>"Is he the handsome man in a suit you were talking about?" </p><p>"He is. But he was busy... which he is almost all the time" Edith shrugged, making a funny face. "You know he might well be the best looking man in America. For sure in New York, trust me" </p><p>"I believe you. Is his mother a widow?"</p><p>"She is. She lost her youngest and her husband back in the UK" Edith said, looking at her full teacup but choosing to ignore it. "When he comes round with my wine, you might meet him" </p><p>"Have you slept with him? Because you look like you have" </p><p>"I don't know why I would sleep with, and why I would tell you about it if I did" </p><p>"Edith! I'm your best friend. Please, tell me if you slept with him! I will take it to my grave" Josie begged, dramatically falling to her knees in front of Edith. Truth be told, it fed beautifully into her already gigantic ego. "Please?"</p><p>"I won't tell you a thing. You told on me to my brother when I sneaked out, and the only reason why I am telling you about the whole alcohol thing is because I know you're scared to death of gangsters, and you better believe they'll come after you if you say anything" was the bored reply, one that shook Josie to the core of her being. So, not only was Edith not saying anything about her and the criminal, but she was also making threats? How dare she? On the other hand, it was true: gangsters could kill her, and that meant that Jocelyn had to keep her mouth shut, although she didn't really want to. </p><p>"That is... such a low blow. I understand you not wanting to tell me whether you slept with that horrible man or not, but threatening my life?" Josie cried, not even making an effort to hide the fact they were crocodile tears. </p><p>"Oh, please. You're such a baby. You've never even met him" miss MacMillan countered, going from bored to positively angry. "No, I haven't slept with him. Not because I don't want to, but because I barely see him more than five minutes at a time" </p><hr/><p>"Miss, there is someone downstairs for you. With a cart. It seems like a delivery" </p><p>Edith confirmed that the visitor could come up, and decided to pat her face with some powder, so that her cheeks didn't look too shiny. Josie was gone, and that was the best part of it all: the girl was tiring, it was like having a dog who could speak. The tingling sensation, the one that preceded these fleeting visits, made itself known, even before there was a knock on the door. When it came, the heiress felt light-headed, in a way she wasn't entitled to. He would probably stay for five minutes, or even less. She would look at him, come to the conclusion that he was the most handsome man in the world, and then he would go away, leaving her with a fake sensation of possibility. </p><p>"Miss MacMillan"</p><p>"Hi"</p><p>Luca Changretta was tall, slim, and always carried his hat on his hand, close to his heart, when indoors. His dark eyes matched his hair, and every single bone in his face made itself known. Edith MacMillan didn't really know how to act when he was around, but she did know that he had three cases of Italian wine, and the wheeled cart he had by his side was the only thing that tainted such masculine style and perfection. </p><p>"May I? Should I place these in your kitchen?" Luca asked, looking at the boxes, and then back at Edith. </p><p>"Yes, please" the owner of the apartment replied, getting out of the way, and following her wine to the aforementioned kitchen. He knew where the wine went, knew where to hide it, and knew how to do it in a way that made her go weak at the knees. "Thank you, for the brooch. It's gorgeous. I wore it today"</p><p>"It looks good on you" Luca responded, looking at it, and seeing the sparkle of the stones and metals. No one else, in the whole planet, could carry it as well as she did, and he'd known it the moment he saw it: only her aquamarine eyes matched the aquamarines in the brooch.</p><p>"Thank you. And for the wine, too" Edith added, for once hoping that her kitchen was smaller. </p><p>"No problem. My pleasure. I'll make sure that the rest of your clients get their orders by tomorrow" he promised, walking out of that particular division, and to the door. </p><p>"That's uh... thanks" </p><p>"And I'm sorry for not staying for your party the other night. I had some... business" </p><p>Edith didn't know what to say to that, but she too was sorry he couldn't stay. It was her birthday, she was a full twenty-two now, and it had been very fun. Sure, seeing him had made it better, but... he had business, and that was one of the things she appreciated the most about Luca. Edith's days were filled with nothing, with the occasional celebration to break down the boredom. </p><p>"Oh, that's alright, don't worry. I don't think you'd have liked my friends. They're good customers, but terribly boring, vapid people. I am too, but I'm too proud to admit to it" these words came out before Edith could stop herself. </p><p>"No one could ever think of you as boring" </p><p>In practice, Edith hadn't lied to Jocelyn. Her ditsy friend had asked her whether she'd slept with Luca Changretta, and she hadn't. And it was also true that he never stayed for more than five minutes... or what seemed like five minutes to her, as time went flying when he was around. Now, if the question was whether she'd engaged in acts of a sexual nature with him... that would require a different answer, one that was not as... negative. Luca had strong, gentle hands, and a way to find every single point where Edith's circulation came to the surface of her skin. Gosh, and she made way for him too, which was shocking to say the least. Not as shocking as the first time they'd... engaged in such activities, which had happened in the backseat of a car, but shocking nonetheless. If any member of Edith's family knew what she was doing, they would be appalled. And it made it so much better. </p><p>None of them really said much, as they didn't need to: a look was enough for Luca to know they were alone, and that she was open to spending one of her rare quite nights with him. He knew her well, he'd taken her in countless times before, and yet her perfume was still as tantalizing, if not more. Not one to lie, Luca had to admit he'd had other women in the past, from all walks of life; however, and because fate always finds a way to intervene, he'd found the one who made him never want to leave. Edith MacMillan, heiress to a banking empire, was it, was the one, the one for him. Deep down, he'd known ever since she'd walked into his nightclub, in a golden dress, and eyes to kill. They'd talked, she'd told him she liked Italian wine, he gave her some of his, and they'd agreed she could get business for illegal alcohol. Things were slightly different now, because he knew this was the endgame, that she was his endgame. There was nothing he didn't know, from how to make her scream, to her favourite colour. There was no guessing game, no two ways about it. </p><p>"Let me guess: you've got to go, there is a shipment coming in from... I want to say Venice? Yes, Venice. And you need to get there before Capone even thinks of sending his men over" Edith joked, pulling up her stockings, attaching them to her garter belt, and composing her underwear. As for Luca, he'd buttoned up his trousers, back to his somewhat somber self, lighting a cigarette. </p><p>"Have dinner with me. At the club" </p><p>Edith froze for two seconds, before straightening her back and sighing loudly. In her head, and as far as she knew, Luca didn't really give her a second thought when they were apart. She'd practised not caring, she'd practised ignoring the thought of him with other women. For her, there was nothing that could come out of their encounters. But what if she had been wrong? He wanted to have dinner, and it gave Edith a glimmer of hope, the exact same one she had fought for months. </p><p>"Look, I don't... I don't know how to say this, but I don't think we should have dinner. Not that I don't want to. It's more of a... an attempt not to... not to give myself false expectations. I'm afraid I might have... I don't... doesn't mean I want you to stop coming around, because I don't. I just need you to not give me hope" Edith explained, head held high, as dignified as ever. "I'm sure you have plenty to choose from for dinner"</p><p>"Hope?" Luca asked, picking up his hat, ready to leave once the lady requested it. "You're right, I do have plenty to choose from for dinner, as I'm sure you do. But here I am, asking you. Not because of convenience, either" </p><p>"See? That's it. That's exactly it. There's the hope I don't want to have, Luca. The hope of ever knowing you're mine the same way I'm yours. Of you feeling for me what I feel for you. I should've said this before. I know I should've, but it's coming out now" she added, letting out all the air in her lungs, feeling like a teenager, probably even stupid, mortified, ridiculous. </p><p>"I would say that yes, you should have said something before. And I'm glad it... how did you say it?... is coming out now, because one of us had to say it, and it wouldn't be me. I've a bad habit of keeping things to myself. Part of the job, you know?" Luca responded, putting his hat down again, on the small coffee table in the middle of the living room. "You really don't know, do you? You go about your life, wearing that perfume, running around New York, not knowing that I stay up at night thinking about every word you've said to me?" </p><p>"What?" Edith let out, unable to stop her lips from moving and her voice from making itself known. "I'm sorry, what? You're saying that... you're saying that you..."</p><p>"I'm saying what should've been said a long time ago: that I'm in love with you" Luca stated, trading the cigarette for his signature toothpick. "And that I want to have dinner with you"</p><p>"You're kidding, you can't be serious" Edith chuckled, her brain struggling to accept that information. No, surely not, this had to be a joke, it had to be a prank. She'd gone so long refusing to believe this would ever happen, fighting with all her might against the daydreams... </p><p>But then he kissed her. Luca Changretta kissed her, not because she had given him the look, but because he had a point to make. And this time, not a single one of the walls Edith had put up to keep her feelings at bay resisted to the impact of that kiss. She couldn't deny it any longer: he was telling the truth, and she had nowhere to hide. </p><p>"I'm serious" Luca said, looking straight at her, black eyes meeting her blue ones, both as clear as day. "Were you?" </p><p>Edith nodded, getting on the tips of her toes to kiss Luca, this time of her own resolve. Maybe it would be best if she actually said something, if she gave verbal confirmation, but he didn't seem to mind. For a man who had to worry about every single aspect of his business, Luca found it quite easy to accept a nod. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: suicide mention! I'm sorry! It's v brief and it's canon in Peaky Blinders</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Edith was sitting, sideways of course, on the small sofa of the Changretta's living room. Both Audrey and her son Luca were speaking in Italian, and she didn't even try to understand what they were saying, as she didn't speak one word of the language, or of any other than English. What she did know was that Audrey didn't look upset, and neither did her son: they looked happy, even excited, which was very rare for either of them. Edith was all eyes for her man, she loved the sound of his voice in his native language, and loved the way he glanced at her here and there. Even stranger, but delectable nonetheless, was that Luca was actually holding her hand, leaning forward ever so slightly.</p><p>"Ok. Ok" Audrey nodded, and that was a word Edith could understand. "I agree" </p><p>"What exactly do you agree with? I'm sorry, but like I said, I don't speak Italian" Edith reminded, sucking her teeth. In her defense, she had been trying to learn, but a week was not a lot of time. Or was it a week and a half?</p><p>"I asked my mother her opinion on something. She agreed with me" Luca explained, leaning back on the sofa, and shifting their conjoined hands from Edith's thigh to his own. "Of course, I contacted your father, who also gave his permission"</p><p>"You what with my father? I'm sorry, why did you go to my..." Edith let out, before going silent. Of course. Of course this would happen. She was surprised it hadn't happened before. This had everything to do with Cyril, her older brother, having taken his own life. And it had even more to do with why he did it: because his wife had rran away with some Birmingham gangster. The same Birmingham gangster who claimed the lives of Luca's father and brother. "You're going to the UK. You're going to... I should've known. I should've known"</p><p>"<em>Amore mio</em>, it's not what you think" Luca started, and Edith had to calm herself down with some breathing exercises. "I didn't know about your brother. I only found out when I contacted your father for something entirely different. It was your father who spoke about what happened, because he knew we had something in common" </p><p>"Why do I believe you, I must be stupid" Edith spat, every bit of her bratty persona coming out in full force. "You're saying that it's a coincidence you asked me out, when we have that in common? I'm sorry, but..."</p><p>"It's true. The newspaper said your older brother had died, but it didn't say he had taken his own life. And it didn't say why it happened, either. It was your honourable father who spoke to my son about it, knowing what we had gone through" Audrey chimed in, dabbing a handkerchief on the corners of her eyes. "Believe us when we say, that none of this was orchestrated. We really had no idea" </p><p>"So what is it that you agreed on? Why did you go to my father, and what were you just talking about?" Edith responded, looking at Audrey, and then at Luca, to see if any of them avoided her eyes, but they didn't: both of them looked back at her, looks clear as day. So maybe they weren't lying, and Edith knew it only because she'd seen them both lie, and it looked nothing like that. It wasn't obvious, but it wasn't this. </p><p>"It is Italian tradition for a man to serenade his sweetheart in these occasions, but you live in a very tall building, so we have decided not to go the traditional route" Audrey explained, not helping one single bit. "Anyhow, I agree, wholeheartedly, and so does your father" </p><p>By then, Luca himself had left the room, and upon coming back, stood on the doorway, with a... a Tiffany blue bag in his hand. It was the same kind of bag her brooch had came in, and it was her favourite thing in the world. Honestly, the vision of the most gorgeous man in all of the States, holding a blue Tiffany's bag, was enough for her to ite her lip, and adjust herself on the sofa. He then walked back to her, and Edith was pretty sure she was going to jump him: that was the hottest thing she had ever laid her eyes on. </p><p>"You uh... What... that's... Tiffany's" Edith gasped, litteraly clutching her pearls. "What's going on?" </p><p>In complete and total honestly, Edith was like a deer in the headlights, not even vaguely aware of what was happening to her, of what the man she so desperately fancied was doing. Whatever it was, it required her standing up, apparently, by the way Luca pulled her up. Needless to say, she was ridiculously shorter than him, even with pretty high heels on. It didn't really matter though, because not even a second after she got up, Luca was getting down on one knee. </p><p>
  <em>He was getting down on one knee, with a Tiffany's velvet box in his hand, harbouring the most beautiful ring she had ever seen in her whole life. </em>
</p><p>"Will you marry me?" Luca asked, trying not to laugh at how big Edith's blue eyes had gotten. It was a relatively simple question to ask, short and concise; but of course, it was one that required some thinking, before an answer could be formulated. Only Edith didn't take long at all. Less than a minute, two tops. </p><p>"Yes. I will, yes" Edith nodded, her whole body going from numb to tingly when her beloved kissed her on the cheek, a demure little gesture she recognised as a promise for when they could be alone, without his mother's eagle eyes surveying their every move. </p><p>Edith MacMillan would, eventually, write her own account of that night, one which was more biased than the present document. However, one thing was clear in her mind, and in that of all the ones present: it was beyond question Luca was head over heels in love with the heiress, a love she fully reciprocated. But that wasn't all there was: their families had suffered equally at the hands of the same people, and that was a fact too big to be ignored. First comes sex, then comes love, then comes shared hate, and then comes marriage. For them, it worked, for their families, it worked. And that's just how it had to be. </p><p> I once again picked the ring lol</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The news of the engagement of Edith MacMillan to Luca Changretta were kept as mum as possible. In the appropriate circles, the same ones that were alight with jealous rage, even with people who were aware of what Luca did felt as if Edith had won the lottery. Jocelyn Dune cut all ties with the bride-to-be, refusing to talk to her while she was engaged to a known criminal. But of course, deep down, it was simply annoying to see someone have everything she wanted for herself: the money, the danger, the power. Yes, because Edith now had the mighty power of the Italian mob behind her, at the tip of her fingers, which she could just snap and receive the best beverages, jewels, clothes... Not to mention she really did take advantage of it: the all-American wardrobe became purely Italian, with silks, suedes of the best quality, sourced from Europe, just for her. </p><p>"I heard she had to kill a man to be initiated" Josie whispered to Dorothy, another wealthy young woman, who would've formerly thrown herself at Edith's feet if the MacMillan heiress did as much as look at her. </p><p>"Wouldn't surprise me. And look at how much older than her he is" Dorothy replied, hiding a smile of mockery behind her champagne glass. They had both been invited to the engagement party, and, despite their harsh words, congratulated the happy couple with big smiles, that transformed into snares of disgust as soon as their backs were turned. "I will admit he's handsome, but..."</p><p>"There are much better-looking men who aren't criminals of the worst kind. Even his mother is ghastly" Josie added, agreeing with her new conspiracy mate. "What got into her head is beyond me" </p><p>"You know how Edith is: found a man who is rich and powerful, and couldn't resist the Italian fur" Dorothy nodded, putting down her champagne flute on a nearby tray. Unluckily, she did so with her left hand, which put into evidence that her ring finger was empty. It was even more infuriating to then lay eyes on the ring Edith displayed, catching the light almost as much as her luminous smile. </p><p>"There are certain things one shouldn't do, even in exchange for Italian pelts" Jocelyn shuddered, trying to convince herself that she wasn't jealous, and finding solace on the fact that Dorothy was certainly doing the same. </p><p>"Ooooooh, what do you reckon she's giving in return? The bank, for money laundering?" </p><p>"As if the Italians needed her bank to do that" miss Dune scoffed, not sure what money laundering was. "No, she's the bargaining chip. Look at her, she'll be the perfect trophy wife: all-American, blonde, blue eyes. She's everything none of the Italians is, so she's like a diamond in the midst of coal" </p><p>"Do you reckon she'll take his last name?" Dorothy enquired, thinking of Josie as an expert in the matter, even though she had refused to even speak to Edith since the engagement came to her attention. "Because I will say this: I don't think anyone in this city, or even in Jersey, will accept her into society again if she does" </p><p>"On the contrary, my friend: he will make sure she's accompanied by men who can get her into any restaurant, even if it's booked months in advance. Guns can do a lot for someone's reputation, and I am ready to bet dear Luca, and his horrible relatives and friends, are all packing tonight" </p><p>Unfortunately for the debutants, their venom had not been contained to the pair of them. And, if they were forced to be honest, they didn't want it to either. They'd gone to the party to collect as much information as they could, to then spread all over New York, tainting Edith's name at all cost. If the first round of damage could be dealt at the party itself, the better. What they didn't count on was the ability of miss MacMillan herself to capture rumours, especially when her name was spoken. </p><p>"My love, it seems to be that not everyone is as happy as I am to hear about our upcoming nuptials" Edith whispered to Luca, going as far as hiding her mouth behind her hand. They'd been talking to Petra and Antonio, second-degree cousins, but the two of them had just walked away to say hello to Audrey, whom they hadn't seen in a long time. Taking advantage of the little break in well-wishing, Edith had decided she was bored and wanted to be distracted. </p><p>"Interesting" Luca responded, following his fiancée's eyes in the direction of miss Dune and miss Arnold. He'd noticed the two of them whispering and glancing at them, but wanted to wait for his beloved's orders to go ahead and do something about it. On the subject of what that would be, it would also be up to the girl whose waist he had his arm around. </p><p>"It is, isn't it? I knew I shouldn't have invited them. Although, why they actually came is beyond me" </p><p>"To do what they're doing: gossip"</p><p>"Oh yeah, they're green with envy. Look at them: sad, empty little fingers, no man to keep them warm at night... I'd be bitter too" Edith purred, her demeanour shifting from socially cheery, to sensual and even dangerous. Anyone who saw the two of them at that moment would be convinced of one single thing: that they were Hades and Persephone come to life. </p><p>"Bitter is right" Luca agreed, hating the two girls with every bit of his soul for the way they dared to look at Edith, who looked nothing short of transcendental, wearing a silver-hued dress, that clung greedily to her every curve, shapes accentuated by the plunging back. "What do you want me to do?"</p><p>"Hm? I don't know, actually. What should we do?" she enquired, thinking to herself, refusing to make a hasty decision that diminished the happiness she felt as the center of attention, and with Luca's arm around her, fingers grazing her exposed lower back. "If I had my way, I would make a whole scandal right here, right now. But I don't want to embarrass anyone" </p><p>"My family would understand, and probably take your side. But yours..." he replied, smirking down at Edith. </p><p>"Yeah, they would hate me for it" Edith let out, along with a sigh. "Do you have neighbours?"</p><p>"Depends: I do have neighbours if you need men; I don't if you need to use the backyard" Luca informed, exchanging a look with his right-hand man, Benedito, who approached quietly. "What are you thinking?" </p><p>"It's like you said: they'd just go around spreading lies" she shrugged, rolling her eyes. </p><p>"Do we go ahead with it, <em>signorina</em>?" Benedito asked, approaching Edith and Luca with the utmost respect. He didn't even dare look at the young lady, such was his reverence. "Would you like it to happen now?"</p><p>"I think so, yes. Thank you ever so much" Edith smiled, patting the subservient Benedito on the shoulder. "You're all dolls" </p><p>"At your service, <em>signorina"</em></p><p>For a moment, Edith pondered actually going as well, so that she could be present for the main event. But then, looking down at her delicate dress and even more delicate heels, decided it would be best not to risk the contact with the outdoors. She did, however, bask in the blessed sight of seeing the two vipers being asked to step outside by two handsome Italian men, whom they simply couldn't resist. Whatever the method, none of the guests heard anything, or even suspected what had occured. Sure, they'd be reported missing, but by the time they were, they'd already be at the bottom of the Hudson, or even the East. Whatever river was chosen, it couldn't matter less.</p><p>"They treat me as if I'm the pope" Edith sighed, already out of her dress, into her nightgown, and under the sheets. "Why is that?" </p><p>"They respect you" Luca replied, non-challantly allowing his fiancée to snuggle up to him, her head on his chest, as he read some form of Italian newspaper she understood nothing about. </p><p>"Well, yeah, good, but why would they not even look me in the eye? Not even Benedito, and he's your best man" </p><p>"It's tradition. So that they can't be accused of... stealing" he informed, in that low, heavily accented voice. "After we're married, they'll be allowed to be less formal" </p><p>"Can I really wait a month for your friends to treat me like a human being? And can I really wait a month to be your wife? Sadly, I think I shall have to" </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Did you know I have absolutely no bridesmaids? No kidding, not one single one of them. My cousins are coming to the wedding, but they absolutely refuse to be bridesmaids" Edith frowned, sitting on the couch she had elected, and which had just been delivered by the good people at the department store. </p><p>"I'm sorry, <em>cuore mio</em>. It's because of me" Luca responded, a firm week before their wedding date. "I really don't know what to say" </p><p>"Do you like the couch?"</p><p>"That one? Yeah, sure" he said, looking at it while hanging up his overcoat and hat. His nights were always like that: he'd arrive quite late, a little before midnight at best, but Edith was still up, and still wearing the same clothes she'd worn the rest of the day. She would always say something of that sort, even before saying good evening. </p><p>"It's new" Edith informed, getting up, smoothing her skirt, and only then walking up to her groom, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissing him right on the lips. "Hi" </p><p>"Hi" Luca responded, kissing her back. "It is a nice couch" </p><p>"It's comfortable. I don't really care about the bridesmaids. The less people are up there, the more attention will be on me. Oh, and on you, of course" she remembered, batting her eyelashes. </p><p>"Everyone will be looking at you, don't worry about that" was the reply. In what planet was anyone going to be looking anywhere but at the bride? </p><p>"Here's hoping. Come on, I'll fix you a drink" Edith cheerily offered, taking her fiancé by the hand, and leading him to the kitchen. "You know the best thing about moving to your house is to be able to see you every night. You can't escape from me" </p><p>"Do I look like I want to escape frrom you?" Luca asked, actually sitting down at the dinner table, and allowing Edith to get him out of his suit jacket. Only then did she pour some <em>grappa</em> for her soon-to-be-husband. As for her, she always drank some champagne. </p><p>"Well, not yet. But what happens when you do?" </p><p>"I won't" Luca assured, taking advantage of Edith passing by him to wrap his arms around her waist, not letting her take one step forward. "I love you" </p><p>"And I love you. But I know I'm difficult" she let out, promising for the eleventh time that week that she'd change. </p><p>"Difficult because you like beautiful things?" he enquired, looking up at her, their height difference reduced significantly. "That's not being difficult. It's knowing what you want" </p><p>"I do know what I want" she admitted, tired of sitting up and deciding to take her fiancé's lap instead of a chair. "I also do what I want" </p><p>"That is also true. And it's... one of the things I love the most about you" </p><p>"Yeah? And you won't be tired of me in thirty years, when I no longer look like this? When we have seven children, and can no longer drink until it's morning outside?" </p><p>"Well... I loved you even before I came home to you every day, and loved you before I could call you mine. Not because you're the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen, either. because you're extraordinary, and you will still be extraordinary in thirty years" Luca stated, making Edith smile with every muscle in her face. </p><p>"Aww, you're so sweet. I adore you, and love you, and can't wait to do this for the rest of my life. Even if we do have seven children, which... by the grace of God, but mostly by the grace of modern medicine, we don't need to have that many" Edith chuckled, sipping on her champagne. </p><p>"Five, then?" </p><p>"Five? Five kids? You do understand that I would have to birth them. And I've heard it hurts. Like hell" she informed, looking at her own stomach and trying to imagine what it would be like to have a bump.</p><p>"I know, I know. Do we want any?"</p><p>"Do you?"</p><p>"With you? Sure" Luca responded, laying his chin on her shoulder. "One? Two"</p><p>"Two sounds good, I guess. I can squeeze two kids out of here" Edith estimated, thanking all the doctors in the world for the invention of contraception. "After the wedding thouhgh" </p><p>"Of course" </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no option for anyone in the Changretta family who wished to get married: it was either Our Lady of Pompeii, or the city hall. The first option was widely regarded as the only one, but if it was a second marriage, it could be impossible. In this case, it was a first (and only) marriage, so the traditional temple could, and should, be used. The MacMillans had posed no obstacles, hence their gathering, on a sunny Saturday, to watch Edith, their beautiful, blonde Edith, marry an Italian mob boss. </p><p>"Oh, look! The church is beautiful!" one of the younger members of the MacMillans said, as proud as ever to be a flower girl, in her poofy princess gown. "I've never seen an altar that big"</p><p>"Kate! Quiet down, this is church, not your bedroom" her mother replied sternly, even though none of the Italian matriarchs and patriarchs minded the bit of noise. Children were supposed to be excited, especially aat a wedding. Once the cerimony started, there would be silence; but while the guests were arriving, noise was permitted. </p><p>Also in keeping with tradition, the groom arrived first, receiving well wishes from the people who were not yet seated. His mother, Audrey, beamed with pride and excitement, foregoing black for once, and opting for a tasteful gray dress, and matching lace veil. It was evident that her dream was coming true, and that she would do everything in her power to not let one single tradition be overlooked: from making sure Edith wore green and spent her last night as an umarried girl at her parents' home; to assuring both bachelor and bachelorette parties were tame. </p><p>"Benedito? Do you have the rings? Mrs. MacMillan, did you make sure Edith isn't wearing any gold?" Audrey Changretta asked, shooting questions in every direction, completely disregarding her son Luca's suggestion of seating down, and relaxing for a bit. </p><p>"They're here, <em>signora</em>" Benedito promptly replied, showing the two gold bands. </p><p>"She's not wearing gold" Margareth MacMillan guaranteed, smiling at her daughter's mother-in-law. "Don't worry, everything will be fine" </p><p>"I know, I know. It's just the nerves" Audrey confessed, allowing the mother of the bride to take her to be seated. "Was Edith nervous when you left her?"</p><p>"Well... I wouldn't say nervous, no. She's a bit like Luca: very confident in herself. And in him, too" Margareth confided, looking around at her family with a smile. "They know what they're doing, so why would they be nervous?" </p><p>"Ah, I have to agree. I was starting to lose hope that I'd ever see my Luca married. But once I met Edith... I knew I would" Audrey said, her voice failing a bit due to the tears forming in her eyes. </p><p>"I also had my doubts about my Edith... she is quite demanding. But your son meets the standards, and then some. I couldn't be happier with this union, and I hope you share my opinion" </p><p>"I do, with all my heart"</p><p>Not even half an hour later, with the groom already at the altar, flanked by his best man, the double doors closed, as there were no more guests to come. Now, they could only hope the bride was arriving, driven by a chauffeur, who doubled as a bodyguard, and accompanied by her father. Of course, she was late, but the car parked outside the church a mere twenty minutes after the designated time, and a swarm of small Italian girls, mixed with some MacMillans, gathered around the bride, to help fix her veil and sizeable train. </p><p>"Oh, thank you so much, sweethearts" Edith let out, when a small group of girls insisted on handing her the bouquet, small hands fighting for dominance over the delivery of the flowers. Another tiny army of tiny helpers placed the veil where it should be, and only with their permission did Paul MacMillan take his daughter's arm. </p><p>"Your brother Clive would be so proud of you. He's looking down at us, I'm sure of it" </p><p>"I think so too. I'm ready, daddy. Let's get me married" she responded, smiling at him through the veil. "I love you" </p><p>"I love you too, pumpkin. Let's get you married" </p><p>When it came down to it, there had been music, most likely organ, or something of the kind. The army of bride's little helpers entered the church, and walked down the aisle themselves, spreading flowers and cheer, stumbling in various degrees to get the best seats to see the bride coming in. She did look like a princess, and each of the little girls made a wish that it would be them some day. Edith herself didn't really remember walking up to the aisle, but she did remember finding Luca's eyes, and smiling at him from a distance, seeing what she knew she'd see: love. </p><p>"Within the spirit of this scripture, Edith and Luca would like to receive the blessing of their parents on this holy union. Parents please rise. Do you give your blessing to this man and woman to be married to each other?" father Hipolitto enquired, once the bride had arrived at the aisle, looking every bit the timeless beauty. </p><p>"Yes, we do" the parents replied, having practised at length. </p><p>"That's a relief" Edith joked under her breath, making Luca laugh. It was such a rare sight, that even the ever so formal Benedito let out a chuckle.</p><p>The rest was even hazier than the beggining: both bride and groom said their vows (Edith did it in very poor Italian, but the gesture and its intention counted), their "I dos", and even exchanged rings without as much as a second of hesitation. It was pointless: they loved each other, they knew they made a good team, and were more than able to make a living for themselves. Nothing else was really required, so the union was more than blessed, even if they had forgone the priest. </p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a lot of power behind an heiress: the money, the social life, everything made an heiress walk as if she ruled the world. It was difficult to heighten that sort of entitlement and arrogance, but Edith MacMillan had succeeded. After her lavish traditional wedding, and with a thick gold band on her finger (paired with a Tiffany's engagement ring), it was impossible to even lay eyes on her in public: she was permanently surrounded by at least four bodyguards, who were obviously packing an arsenal on them. From her shoes to her coats, everything was of the finest quality, and impossible to find in the USA. Even her makeup was European, and she had the beauty for it, as well. It made her one of the most hated women in New York and New Jersey, as well as one of the most envied. On the flip side, Benedito and those closest to Luca were now addressing her by her first name, and even went as far as lending an arm when the cobblestone became less smooth. </p><p>"How amazing is the weather today?" Edith smiled, looking around 7th Avenue, somehow effortlessly matching her husband's walking pace, despite doing it in heels and much shorter legs. "Lord, I wish we could stay outside all day"</p><p>"Didn't you say that the sun makes you age faster?" Luca responded, lighting a cigarette for his wife, and another for himself. </p><p>"I did say that... Maybe outside, but in the shade" </p><p>They kept on walking, having just come from their own home to the little shop Audrey Changretta had. There was a shipment of champagne from Southern France, and Edith had offered to try it, of course. With some luck, the supplier would have sent her a case of her own. There were other matters to discuss, but none would be of significance for her, and she would only stay until she got bored. Or so she thought, because as soon as she sat down, Audrey burst into quick Italian, which she then translated into English, for her daughter-in-law's sake. </p><p>"I have decided that we should take action" Audrey said, in a somber tone of voice. "I will send Benedito, and more men to aid him" </p><p>"And me" Luca chimed in, making Edith wake up from her almost-sleeping state of mind. "I'm the one who'll kill them. It was my father and my brother they..."</p><p>"No! No, it's too dangerous, and I can't lose another son" Audrey countered, hoping for some support from Edith, and receiving none: the girl seemed to be in complete and utter shock, or maybe she hadn't understood what was going on. "They'll do the job, and you'll stay here, with your wife" </p><p>"I can go, too" Edith said, finally catching on to what they were planning. "I've as much against those dirty rats as you do" </p><p>"No, that is not even up for debate. I can't have you anywhere near those people. I can't trust them to do this the respectable way, and you'd be the first one they'd come for" Luca replied, taking his wife's hand, a definitive sign that he didn't want to put her in harm's way unnecessarily. "You are more precious to me than anything else. I cannot stand the thought of losing you"</p><p>"How do you think I feel? How do you think I'll sleep at night, knowing you're halfway across the world, waging war?" Edith protested, breathing in loudly. "It's all too easy for you to protect me, but what can I do to protect you? Absolutely nothing. And I hate it. So I'm not letting you go. I understand revenge, but I'm too selfish to let you do it yourself" </p><p>"And I'm too selfish not to do it myself. Thomas Shelby killed my father, my brother, and my bother-in-law. Him and his family will die, and it will be me who does it. It's my vengeance, and I refuse to delegate that. It's my honour" Luca stated, knowing Edith would be pouting, and knowing his mother would be crying, but convinced he was right. It was the way his people did things: themselves, hands on, no luxury or cortesy. </p><p>"How dare you love your honour more than you love me" Edith hissed, a question without a question mark, a statement that was meant to hurt, and hit the target perfectly. "How dare you give me the man I love, and now threatening to take everything away"</p><p>"Edith..."</p><p>"No. No. You want to go? You want your revenge on them? Great. You've all my support. But do me a favour, and don't you dare lie to my face and tell me you love me, because you sure as hell don't. You wouldn't put me through this if you did" </p><p>It would've been easier if she screamed, but Edith didn't. She only got up, turned her back on her husband, and walked up the stairs. Without a word, her security team followed her to her home, and stayed dilligently at the door. Back at the shop, Luca didn't know what to say, and neither did his mother. None of them really expected Edith to have that kind of reaction, which complicated matters greatly. </p><hr/><p>"I don't want to look at you right now"</p><p>"I know" Luca agreed, from outside the locked door. It had once been a guest bedroom, but it was now Edith's closet, her realm, her playground. She loved it there, and it was more than obvious that he wasn't allowed inside at the present moment. "Hear me out, at least?" </p><p>"Fine" </p><p>"You understand why I have to do it, don't you? Even my mother does, I managed to talk some sense into her" </p><p>"I pride myself on having absolutely no sense, so tough luck" Edith spat, continuing to brush her hair as if her husband was nothing but a minor inconvenience. "Can't believe she's behind this stupid idea" </p><p>"Stupid or not, it's a matter of honour. And if someone else pulls the trigger, it is as good as nothing. I have all the resources I could ever need to kill Shelby without making a fuss, and his family as well. It'll be a clean job. I'll be back before you know it" Luca informed, trying to be as clear as possible. "You've seen us better Capone's men a thousand times: this will be no different" </p><p>"I like to think I knew what I was signing up for when I married you" Edith responded, after a long period of silence. "But I won't... I know I won't make it if you don't come back. I won't ever be myself again without you" </p><p>"I'll come back. I promise you. There is nothing I wouldn't do to come back to you" </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Honour ended up winning. Edith sighed, cried, but did it all when Luca couldn't see it. She didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to make it harder than it already was. His going wasn't an attempt to run away from her, from their marriage; if anything it seemed to break him even more than it did her. Actually, the two days before his departure were spent at their home, with no business, and no work. Two days just to be able to commit every detail of her face to memory, in the case of... It wouldn't happen, he wouldn't let it happen, but if it did... if it did, he would be ready. </p><p>"We need to act as if nothing is happening. Like tomorrow you'll still be here, you'll still be next to me when I wake up" Edith pleaded, refusing to spend that day any other way. The burning fear in her stomach, that horrible feeling she had stuck in her throat wouldn't allow her to do as much as breathe properly, let alone face those hours dealing with the truth. "I don't want to let you go" </p><p>"Nothing will happen. Nothing at all. I'll be back, three months tops, back to you, back to our miracle" Luca replied, words that made his wife cry. It obviously hadn't been his intention, but it was too late now: the mention of their unborn child was a bit too much for her. Edith had only found out three weeks earlier that she was expecting, but since then, their every move had been with their child in mind. </p><p>"Please don't break that promise. I mean it, too. I don't think I'll be able to have a child if you're not by my side. You're my better half" Edith sobbed, taking his hands, snuggling into his body, not allowing a single inch of separation between them. "I can't raise a child without you, I know I can't" </p><p>"You won't. I'll be here. I promise" Luca tried to say in a soothing tone, so that his beloved knew that he had no intention of letting Tommy Shelby win that war, let alone now, that there was a baby on the way. It wasn't just any baby, either: it was a very wanted, very loved baby, conceived out of their love, in that very same bed. All in all, it didn't realy matter what did was that Edith was pregnant, the baby's heart was beating strong, and Luca fully planned to be as good as a father as his own father had been to him and Angel. There was simply no alternative. </p><p>"I wish the baby was kicking already. Would make it a bit more real, you know?" Edith mused, forcing herself to do what she'd requested: act as if nothing was happening. "What if it's twins? Two babies" </p><p>"Twins? I think that would be perfect. We'd have all the little ones we want at once" Luca responded, letting his hand drift to his wife's lower stomach, where he imagined his child to be, growing and thriving. "I'll make sure that you get the best hospital room in all of New York, and the best doctors, too"</p><p>"Will you be there with me? I won't resent you if you don't want to be, I promise" she enquired, looking up at him, her hand on top of his. He was warm and safe, and she couldn't be happier to have such an extraordinary man as the father of her baby, or babies. As for her, Edith was a brat, a spoiled girl, whose best asset was her ability to know which colours complimented one's skin tone. Of course, this was her view of herself: those who knew her knew she was strong-willed, resilient, resourceful, and owner of a type of wit and intelligence that was rare, and only appreciated by kindred spirits. </p><p>"Do you want me to be? As far as I see it, it's really not my choice to make" Luca pointed out. "Would you want me to be there?"</p><p>"I would, yes" </p><p>"Then, so please be with me. So you can see the little one's face right then" Edith smiled, imagining the look on her husband's face, with a baby in his arms. "Your hair, with my eyes. That would be so cute"</p><p>"As long as baby looks like you, I don't care about hair colour" </p><p>"Don't even say that, shut up. You know damn well you're the most handsome man in the world, let alone this country" she beamed, fixing his hair neatly. "My friends were super jealous when you asked me out" </p><p>"What do you think my friends said when they saw you? I'm not going to repeat it, but it was something along the lines of you being way yoo beautiful for an old man like me" </p><p>"Old man? Where's the old man? You're forty, love, you're not eighty" Edith laughed, a little more than she antecipated being capable of. "Who told you that? I'd like to have a conversation with them" </p><p>"My mother, for instance" Luca chuckled, really not happy with the thought of his mom intruding. "She would've killed me if I hadn't married you. Would've killed me if I let you go"</p><p>"Yeah? I knew I liked her" Edith responded, laughing into his chest. "I didn't marry you for you, I married you 'cause I like your mom. Oh, and 'cause of the money, and the champagne. Nothing to do with you, really" </p><p>"I had my doubts" was the reply, the air becoming a bit lighter, the banter distracting them from the world outside. "You really are the best thing that has ever happened to me. By far" </p><p>"You're mine, so I know how you feel. Should've told you how I felt earlier, should've tried to be less stubborn" </p><p>"Everything happens for a reason. No rush. We've all the time in the world" </p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alright so please stop reading this now if you aren't into really sad stuff. I know we all know what happened in the show, and it happens here too. Sorry!</p>
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    <p>Five months. Five months, and a broken promise. It was beyond excuse, and Edith could never hope to forgive her husband for what he'd done, or for what he failed to do. Even worse was the feeling of his child moving, of the little life they'd created kicking, as if it was demanding to kow how come his or her father weren't back yet, when the promise was three months. Sure, the stupid revenge had been enacted, and the Shelbies had won: it was as simple as that. Whoever Tommy Shelby was, he'd managed to take so many lives that Edith had to use two hands to count them: her brother Clive, Angel, mr. Changretta, Giovanni, Francesco, and Luca. Of all people, thestupid Brit had to have taken Luca. The worst of it was knowing that he'd been stupid enough to go, to want to take matters into his own hands. Luca had walked into his own death, and Edith hated him for it. He had lied, he had tricked her, and now she had to raise a child she wouldn't even have wanted if it weren't for him. He'd married her, loved her, and gotten her pregnant, only to take everything away, for honour. What a stupid word. What a stupid word, and what a stupid man. </p><p>"How is the baby?"</p><p>"Still here" </p><p>"I know that, I'm asking if..." </p><p>"Fine. Alright? Dandy. Beating heart and all that" Edith spat, pushing past Benedito, throwing him against the wall in the process. This was another idiot, the bodyguard she didn't ask for, the cunt who had been left behind to take care of her, as if she was a stupid little toy, which could break if left unsupervised. Oh, he had protested, but Luca had made damn sure he obeyed, and Edith knew very well why Benedito had agreed at the end, after hours of shouting. </p><p>"<em>Signora...</em>"</p><p>"Don't ever call me that again, you hear me? Shut up, SHUT UP!" she screamed, so loud her ears rang, her pistol under his chin, locked and loaded, ready to fire. "I will kill you, YOU HEAR ME?"</p><p>"Edith!" a voice called from the other end of the hallway, a shocked and sorrow-filled voice: Audrey Changretta. "Edith, what is this? Put away that gun, right now!"</p><p>"YOU" the heiress roared, striking Benedito in the face with all her strength, and advancing toward Audrey, pointing the gun at the matron as she walked. "YOU DID THIS" </p><p>"Come with me, you need to sit down. You need to calm down, think of the baby..." Audrey tried to reason, but Edith was not herself. Or maybe she was herself, maybe this was her, this terrible fury from the deepest part of a larger-than-life grief. </p><p>"I DON'T WANT THIS BABY" Edith scoffed, grabbing Audrey by the neck and pushing her inside the guest room. The older woman stumbled and fell, hitting her head in the process, before Benedito could do anything. Once he got to the enraged woman, and managed to get his arms around her, she had already broken down, crying and sobbing so hard he had a hard time staying any near her. But it had to be done, he had to brave it, so that she didn't hurt herself, or others. </p><p>"Come on, come on" Benedito whispered, trying to contain her, and not even letting her go when she kicked him as hard as she could, and try to hit him with her head. "Stop, you need to rest" </p><p>Braving the storm he contained with his figure, the bodyguard made his way to the closet, the one room he knew would be able to make Edith calm down. There were no traces of Luca there, there were no traces of anyone other than Edith herself, and it was the closest thing to paradise in that house filled with memories the MacMillan heiress could not deal with. Even Audrey was too much, even Benedito himself was too much. But someone had to be there, someone had to stay with her, had to make sure she didn't do anything that she'd later regret. Her family had failed, because they looked so much like Clive; the Changrettas had failed because they looked so much like Luca. She needed to calm down, and needed help. </p><p>"Here" Benedito let out, placing the struggling figure on the floor, where she couldn't do any damage. To his surprise, the moment Edith felt the carpet under her, she stood completely still, crying silently, hands over her face. He took the liberty of sitting down next to her, back against the wall, busying himself by pulling the bullets out of her gun, and keeping them on the inside of his suit jacket. </p><p>"How long has it been?" Edith asked, her voice tiny, painful, low and raspy. </p><p>"Five months since they died" Benedito replied, as he always did. Only the amount of time changed, but the question always came, and it hurt him as much as it hurt her: he'd lost everything, too. </p><p>"I don't want this baby" </p><p>"I know you don't" he acknowledged, not for the first time either. "When you see him, you'll want him" </p><p>"I won't. I know I won't. Because I know it's going to look like him, and I can't stand that thought. I hate him. I hate him more than I ever hated anyone. I hate him so much it's like my soul is on fire" Edith growled, sounding more like the devil himself than like the well-educated woman she was. "I hate Luca, I hate him, and I hope he burns in hell for what he did to me" </p><p>"Don't say that" </p><p>"Don't you agree? He took everything from me, and from you, too. He left you behind, he left you here, made you stay. Don't you hate him, too? Not even a little bit?" she enquired, looking straight at Benedito, burning holes through his eyes, demanding the truth, and demanding it now. </p><p>"I do" </p><p>That truth had been stuck in his throat for far too long; more than the five months Luca Changretta had been dead. But he never thought he would get to say it, not even in confession, where he had even released the most secret of all truths, the only secret he harboured from his late best friend. But that one, that one piece of information was sacred, in the way that only true love could be; his hatred for Luca Changretta and for the humiliation of being left behind was anything but holy. And Benedito knew, Benedito knew so well that it would eat him up on the inside, just like it was Edith: that hate, that larger than life disgust would burn through them like wildfire, neverending, just like the consequences of honour, of stupid honour, the same damned honour that had put them in this situation. </p><p>"I know you do. I see it in your eyes. I see it when you look at that hag, and I see it when you enter this house. You hate them, just like I do. Broken promises, broken dreams, lies... they lied to us, HE lied to us. He never loved me, you were never like a brother to him. If it was true, he wouldn't have gone. He would've stayed" Edith stated. Whether what she was saying was true or not, they would never know, but it was undeniable that it made sense, and for Benedito, who had spent countless sleepless nights coming to the same conclusions, it made all the sense in the world. </p><p>"He loved you. And he loved his child" </p><p>"If you love something, you do whatever it takes not to lose it. But he put dead people first, he put HIS honour first. Listen to me when I say this: he went because he couldn't bare thinking someone had gotten the better of him, that someone had tainted the family name. Because that's what he loved most: himself, his name, and his power. Not me, not you, nothing. Maybe I was different than the others, and I do believe I was, I saw it in his eyes that I wasn't just for convenience. But I was never a priority; his honour was" </p><p>Benedito kept his silence, listened carefully, each word hitting him like a ton of bricks. There it was, there were the things he couldn't deny, couldn't argue with. There was the truth, there was the record set straight. And that was the only person who knew Luca Changretta better than the man knew himself, the only one who understood him, who knew by heart all his faults, all his thoughts. Benedito knew them too, knew him just as well, but had refused to see it, had lived in the shadow of his mentor, of a man so powerful he could see none of his shortcomings, masked by how much he wanted to emulate his idol. Luca Changretta was selfish, cruel, and uncapable of keeping his promises, even to the woman he claimed to love, whom he had loved enough to marry and conceive a child with. And how Benedito hated him, how the right-hand man hated his boss, how the admirer had turned to persecutor. Nothing could ever be the same. Nothing. His memory was nothing bu a wound, an open wound, but it would heal; what would never fade was the anger Benedito felt, not even for himself, but for what Luca had done to Edith. </p><p>"What would've happened if he came back?" he ended up asking, throwing the pistol to the side. "What would have happened if he came back alive, what would you have done?"</p><p>"I woud've chosen the path of no resistance; if he came back, the baby would be wanted again, I would still be in love, and I would never have seen him for what he was" Edith confessed, letting out a humourless chuckle, a sound even more terrifying than her sobs. </p><p>"Now that you do know what he was, what happens?" </p><p>"I want this thing out of me. I want it out, and then, I want to get revenge. I want every single one of them dead, and I want his business. I want to rule this city, and I want to make sure no one remembers their name" Edith said, sitting up, her eyes clearly visible in the darkness of the room. She was issuing a challenge: stand with me, or stand against me. Benedito knew his answer, and also knew how to give her what she wanted, knew how to get the Changrettas out of the trade, and even knew how to keep Capone out of their turf, which he'd been doing almost single-handedly since Luca's death. To think of what an heiress could do, to think of her handling the licquor trade, to imagine her sitting on the throne which had once belonged to her husband, made his skin crawl. But it was intoxicating: seeing Edith MacMillan as the queen, having a seat at her table... </p><p>"The <em>signora</em> dies first" Benedito stated, pulling out a revolver and checking the ammunitions. "She dies first, and then we gather the men to let them know this operation is under new management. They'll follow me, I was the one making sure orders were obeyed. They know me, and trust me" </p><p>"What do you want in return?" Edith asked, every bit the businesswoman she had been preparing to be. Benedito knew her well, too, and couldn't deny she would be successful in her enterprise. As for him, there was only one thing he wanted in return, the only thing he could ever want from her. </p><p>"I want the deal I had with him honoured" </p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trigger warning for basically everything that has to do with maternity. Big ass trigger warning, guys. From here on out, Edith is gonna go off. Like off off: violence, cursing, you name it. I don't condone any of the actions depicted, and if you are in a similar situation, please seek professional help, alright?</p>
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    <p>The child was born before time, at seven and a half months, mere weeks after the agreement between Benedito Bianchi, and Edith MacMillan. For the expecting mother, that fact was absolutely unimportant, as she had already decided she wanted nothing to do with the child. Even if she did, if she had a change of heart, it wouldn't matter: the baby was born without breathing, heart completely stopped. Audrey Changretta, already destroyed by the loss of husband and two sons, couldn't believe when she was told the news, and collapsed to the ground, finally succumbing. Edith couldn't have cared less, and not even Benedito could raise an eyebrow. It was one less chore, one less wasted hour of his life. Now, he just had to go ahead and call a meeting with all of those loyal to the Changrettas.</p><p>"What do you need?" </p><p>"Hm. White. I need white" </p><p>"They'll be shocked" </p><p>"Let them be" </p><p>Benedito himself was shocked, but he knew better than to go against the mighty force that was that woman. If she wanted to wear white a week after her child had passed, then she would do so, and no one in the world could convince her to do otherwise. When the associates saw what was supposed to be a grieving wife and mother dressed in head to toe white, without as much as the ghosts of tears in her makeup, they would be outrage... one could even say terrified. For God-fearing Italians, deeply-rooted in tradition, this blatant display of non-chalance was... panic-inducing. And it could play to their advantage. After all, it was better to be feared than loved, if one's game was their game. </p><p>"What's so fun about disrespecting people's traditions?" Benedito asked, lowering his eyes to the ground. "For example, why do you insist on trying on clothes with me in the room?"</p><p>"Because I don't care. A lot of men have seen me in my underwear. I get these dresses made, and you can't get measured with your clothes on" </p><p>"I'm not a tailor" he replied, eyes on the carpet. This one was navy-blue, unlike the red of the other closet, in her old house. Every inch of the space had been designed by Edith herself, and it displayed taste, interlaced with a lot of money: all of Luca's money was now hers, and it was fifty percent of a very lucrative business. "I'm a human being, in case you haven't noticed" </p><p>"Excuse me? You need to know your place, and stay there" she scoffed, trying on a heavily-beaded, body-hugging number that would caused traffic accidents. "Remember that" </p><p>"Remember we are equals in this business. I've got the leverage, you've got the brains" Benedito reminded, looking at Edith, his face the picture of a bruised ego. He refused to be anyone's toy soldier, and she was no different. An heiress, yes; a socialite, no doubt; a force to fear, absolutely. But if this was to happen, Benedito would claim agency, and would not let her pedicured feet stomp all over him, like she did with everyone else. </p><p>What she did next came out of left field: the same pedicured toes that put everyone in their rightful place, at her feet, moved across the carpet, and came to rest right in front of his well-polished black shoes. Refusing to look her in the eyes, he couldn't see her aqua-coloured irises focused on his face, but could definetly see (and feel) her hand grabbing his crotch. It hurt like hell, but the young man was frozen, convinced he was hallucinating. </p><p>"Don't you dare talk to me in that tone. I've got you by the balls, little boy. By the balls, you hear me? And I will do to you whatever I want" Edith stated, her voice little more than a rumbling growl. "Say it: tell me I own you" </p><p>"You don't" Benedito forced himself to reply, speaking through gritted teeth. "You don't. Not anymore"</p><p>"LIAR" she called out, letting go of his trousers, and choosing to threaten him with a slap, which would've landed if it wasn't for his quick reflexes, grabbing her forearm, and pinning it to her back, so the heiress couldn't try again. "Let me go, let go, NOW!"</p><p>"Stop. You need to stop acting like this. Have some self respect, and act like the lady you are" he demanded, making her sit down on the armchair she insisted on having in the room. For what, no one knew. Maybe to visit the clothes? Spend some quality time with her shoes?</p><p>"That what you think? That just because I'm acting the way I want, I have no self respect?" the heiress chuckled, crossing her legs, one over the other, forearms on the armrests of the padded chair. "You're wrong. All I have is self-respect" </p><p>"You're an arrogant, self-absorbed bitch, then" Benedito threw at her, barely believing he had said it to his boss' wif... widow. What if it was true? He owed her respect. For Luca's sake. But he was dead, wasn't he? He was fucking dead, he had gotten himself killed, and Benedito had never felt as alive as he did ever since his protector had disappeared from the face of the earth. </p><p>"Guilty" Edith laughed, lifting her hand, as if she was offering to answer a teacher's question, or be sworn into the witness stand. "You're a scared, sheltered virgin" she added, abiding by rules her oponent wasn't aware of setting.</p><p>"Excuse me? What did you just say to me?"</p><p>"Touched a nerve, did I? What, they didn't take you to the strip club in the Bronx? Or let you have one of those girls Giovanni hired?" she enquired, seeing the blood rushing to the young man's face. My god, he really was young, wasn't he? Not much older than her, really. </p><p>"Luca never went to those girls, not since he proposed to you" were the words that ended up coming from Benedito's mouth. Why was he so hellbent on soothing her, when she teased and insulted him as if her life depended on it? </p><p>"Not what I asked" </p><p>"You didn't ask shit" </p><p>"Where was that attitude when I first met you?" Edith asked in return, crossing her arms to match her legs. "You know what, I think I'll hire someone for you. Any preference? Blonde? Brunette? Oh, or maybe not a girl at all. What do you say?"</p><p>"Shut up, you're not thinking straight" Benedito replied, waving his hand in dismissal, and preparing to leave the room. He'd had enough: one thing was making sure the widow did'nt throw herself off the balcony; another was being her personal punching bag. There was only so much a man could take, andBenedito Bianchi had reached his limit. </p><p>"Can you even get it up? I don't think you can" she continued, apparently not listening to what he said, not even looking at him. "I think it doesn't work. Where are you going?" </p><p>"I'm leaving, I just told you. I don't have to stay here and listen to you insulting me. Enough is enough" </p><p>"Don't you want to prove me wrong?" the heiress asked, and Benedito knew, knew in his soul, that she was looking at him, and had her lower lip between her upper teeth. He stopped in his tracks. She really said that, didn't she? She... Edith, she had said... She was... trying to seduce him? Getting him to... sleep with her? </p><p>"What? What are you saying? Have you been drinking?" Benedito asked, squinting so that he could zoom in on her expression. Of course, there it was: bitten lower lip, one eyebrow raised, And she looked absolutely gorgeous. Scary, but gorgeous. God was his witness, he really couldn't take another step, and his whole body froze from the inside out. </p><p>"I'm asking you if you don't want to prove me wrong. About what I said" Edith shrugged, as if she couldn't have said anything more normal than that. "Come on" </p><p>"No. Absolutely not, what the fuck? I don't understand what's going on in your head, but you need help. I'm going to call the doctor" he replied, shaking his head, stepping out of the room and going straight to the exit door. No, no, he wouldn't go back, wouldn't give her the satisfaction of even kissing her lips, to admit to the weakness she imposed on his resolution. One thing was looking after her, making sure she wouldn't get hurt, or hurt others. Something entirely different was to take advantage of a person who was mentally unstable. </p><p>
  <em>Though he knew she was always like this. He knew this was her, and he had a very strong opinion about it.</em>
</p><p>This was the same woman who had her two best friends killed for spreading negative rumours about her. </p><p>The same woman who married Luca Changretta, knowing he killed and tortured. </p><p>The very same spoiled princess who hadn't even hesitated when she'd been told her mother-in-law had to die. </p><p>The one and only heiress who gave birth to a dead baby, and didn't even look at it, or bat an eye. </p><p>A monster. A no-good, dead inside, cruel, violent, hungry, monster.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As expected, the sight of Edith MacMillan arriving to the meeting in a custom Rolls-Royce, dressed in white, was enough to give at least two associates reasons to believe they were suffering a stroke. They'd all been present for her wedding, but since then, hadn't seen the Changretta widow, though they'd sent their condolences, flowers, and sympathies when her husband, son, and mother-in-law passed. This wasn't the blushing bride, or the image of sorrow they expected to see, with Audrey Changretta as an example. There was no black, no heavy veil, no modesty, and no intention of retiring into the closest church for the rest of her days. </p><p>Benedito Bianchi did all the speaking, with her presence looming over him. One week later, he still hadn't recovered from the events of that faithful day, and each waking moment in her presence was a hurtful reminder of what she thought of him. He wasn't her bodyguard, ready to lay down his life for her, nor her business partner; he was a boy, a coward in her eyes, and it hurt. It did, even if he had tried not to have any kind of feelings. </p><p>"We knew it would be you, in the case of Luca's death" one of the older associates said, the man who ruled the pier, mr. Rossi. "He said as much before he left" </p><p>"I know" Benedito replied, lowering his head. "I intend to step into the role that was assigned to me in this scenario. But I wanted your blessing, <em>signori</em>"</p><p>"And you have it" mr. Rossi pointed out. "What we want to understand is what <em>signora </em>Changretta's role will be" </p><p>"I'm here to make sure mr. Bianchi makes good choices, when it comes to this business" Edith explained, having a somewhat hard time speaking, on account of how many men looked at her as if she was insane. "Also, to honour the agreement made at this very table" </p><p>"What agreement, <em>signora</em>?" mr. Ferrara, the man responsible for the ships, asked. "The agreement that Benedito Bianchi shall step into Luca Changretta's place?"</p><p>"Please, don't treat me as if I were dumb, mr. Ferrara. I am talking about the agreement that involves me" Edith scolded. "What, have you forgotten? Or did you not know I would become privy to your plan regarding me?" </p><p>"<em>Signora</em>..." </p><p>"Don't you dare lying. Admit to it. Admit it, old man" she almost shouted, getting up from her chair and banging her furious fists on the table. "ADMIT IT" </p><p>"Your husband wanted to make sure you'd be protected in the case of his death. You surely can't fault him for that, rest his soul" mr. Rossi chimed in, bothered by the young woman's behaviour. If his own wife acted like this, he didn't even know what he would do. It was simply not how Italian wives conducted themselves. </p><p>"Oh, but I can. For that, and for a lot more. I can fault him for so many things, it would blow your mind, mr. Rossi. However, I'm a generous person, and, as such, I've decided to honour the agreement" the heiress explained, going back to her seat and crossing her ankles underneath the table. "Let it be known, though, that I am doing it because it suits me. For all I care, Luca Changretta can rot in hell, which is where he belongs" </p><p>The gasps were audible around the table, and the disgust as well. Only Benedito remained calm and collected, used as he was to hearing her say those words, and agreeing with each and every one of them. What was more, she said she agreed withwhat they'd decided, but only because it suited her. It had to be a good sign, right? Had to mean something, had to... maybe not what it meant for him, but with time, maybe? But no, this wasn't the time nor the place to think about it, to wish for it. </p><p>"Dear girl, don't say things like that, please..." mr. Rocca pleaded, having already said a prayer to his patron saint, trying not to go to hell for sharing a space with a heathen. "It was for your own good"</p><p>"My own good? Need I remind you old carcasses that I would be just fine even if I hadn't married that scumbag? It's funny that you all seem to think you're doing me such a favour, when in reality, I will find a way to do a much better job than the Changrettas, making you all so much fucking money you will coming crawling to me, thanking me on both your knees, admitting to being condescending bastards, who think I'm a piece of meat that you can trade and sell" Edith exploded, saying each of those words louder than the one before. The building could very well be shaking in its foundations, such was the might of her outrage. "And when his name is forever forgotten, and mine is the only one standing, you will all bow down to me" </p><p>That was the last straw for the combative mr. Rossi, who decided he had enough. Pushing his chair back with his feet, he shook his head and prepared to leave. Only he didn't have enough time to reach the door: a loud bang filled the room, and mr. Rossi fell forward, his limp, lifeless body staining the floor with blood. The others didn't even dare move a muscle, didn't even dare look at the shooter.</p><p>"Does anyone else want to disrespect the head of this organization?" Benedito asked, his gun releasing smoke, even when he returned it to his holster. "Because if so, I will make sure you can be buried next to <em>signor </em>Rossi"</p><p>"<em>Signora</em>... does this mean we answer to you, now? And to Benedito?" mr. Rocca enquired, as politely as he could, not to risk his life. "And will you..." </p><p>"Make him my husband? Yes. I mean, wasn't that what my husband wanted? Didn't dear Luca say he wanted me to go to Benedito? Well, here I am, makin ghis dream come true" Edith chuckled, leaning back on her chair, cossing her arms. </p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Good afternoon y'all, here we are, this is when I inform you that this story took an unexpected turn, and I also grew to hate the name I gave the poor man, so I'm sorry for changing it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the swiftness of two months, the whole enterprise knew who to bow down to. Old habits were re-instated, such as not looking at a lady in the eyes, in case said lady wasn't married, or was a widow. Edith MacMillan, who refused to go by the name of her late husband, was both, and adored the reverence with which she was treated by those powerful men. She was now one of them, the most powerful of them all, and did with them and their resources what she wanted. And what she wanted was steady numbers of Capone's turf taken, more alcohol supliers, and protection money from every business under their wing. Under new management, their business was better than ever, and Edith could have absolutely everything she wanted: cars, dresses, shoes, furniture, you name it. The one thing she did not have, and that she craved intensely, was her business partner. </p><p>"Are both your parents Italian?"</p><p>"No, mom's American, from Nevada"</p><p>"Nevada? Oh, I love Las Vegas. We should go sometime" </p><p>"No, thank you" </p><p>"If your mom's American, you probably have an American middle name. I'm asking you this because your first name is horrible" Edith threw at Benedito, who was entirely too used to being insulted like that. Horrible or not, it was his father's name, and his gradnfather's too. But it was no use to tell her as much, she didn't care. His name was an inconvenience, one she didn't really care to undergo for as long as they were in business together. </p><p>"Marcus. My middle name is Marcus" the poor man ended upa dmitting, looking at the heiress with more patience than he probably owed her. "Do you have a middle name? I'm asking, because Edith is horrible" </p><p>"Oh wow, you do have a spine" Edith laughed, sipping on her champagne. "I do have a middle name, but I don't think you'll be happy about it"</p><p>"Try me" Benedito urged, looking straight at her, perhaps with an intensity he didn't mean. "I told you mine, now you tell me yours"</p><p>"It's Mary" </p><p>"Mary. Edith Mary? I'll be damned, that is bad" Benedito, pardon, Marcus replied, chuckling for good measure. "I'll stick with Edith, thank you very much" </p><p>"I prefer Marcus" </p><p>"Suit yourself" he admitted, sincerely not caring, and knowing that there was absolutely no use in trying to say any different. So now he was Marcus, at least to her. And two months after the beggining of their partnership, Edith's demands were the biggest, and most important, part of his life. </p><p>"Say, Marcus, when will you force me to marry you?" Edith enquired, forcing the man previously known as Benedito to inhale a big portion of the air around him. In all honesty, he had no intention of forcing her to do whatever it was, given that most people around them already thought they were married. At least they shared a house, and everyone simply assumed they'd gone down to city hall and gotten it done without telling anyone. But no, Marcus was only there to protect her, since she refused to have anyone else in her house. </p><p>"I won't. The associates are under the impession I already did, and I don't plan on proving them wrong" he shrugged, honestly wishing she would just go to bed, and let him off the hook. Edith had this terrible manner of asking innapropriate questions, and it was only a matter of time before she got on the trail of enquiries that would most likely end up wih him admitting to things he didn't want to. </p><p>"Why?" </p><p>"Because you've already been through enough, I don't want forced marriage to follow" Bene... pardon, Marcus informed, wishing there was a newspaper around there that he could hide his face behind. </p><p>"I think you're lying" </p><p>"You're wrong" he assured, trying not to lose his poker face. </p><p>"You don't want to marry me, because I belonged to him. Isn't it? Because you'd always remember he touched me first" she stated, her mild amusement turning to stern indignity. </p><p>"What leads you to believe I would touch you, even if we were married? Not because of that either, I couldn't give less of a shit who you've been with, and I can assure you I've forgotten about the man you used to be married to" Marcus protested. having also forgotten that he used to be called Benedito, too. </p><p>"Wow, that's harsh, and rude, too. Am I that disgusting to you?"</p><p>"Not what I meant. I meant that I'm not the type of man who forces a woman to sleep with me just because we're married. You either want to, or you don't. End of story" </p><p>"I didn't say anything about forcing me, Marcus" Edith replied, losing a little bit of her arrogance, and becoming more human in the process, curious, inquisitive, but not in a bad way. "You wouldn't be forcing me to it. And I am sorry for what I said that day, at my old house. It's alright if you're not interested in women, I have no problem with that, and your secret is safe with me" </p><p>"Also not what I meant" Marcus replied, laughing so hard he got teary-eyed. That woman was something else, coming to such conclusions and simply running with them, refusing to accept she was wrong. She was doing it now, fully convinced he was gay, and having believed it for at least the couple of months they'd been in business together. As she said, there was absolutely nothing wrong with being gay; it just so happened that it was not his case. "And don't worry, I wouldn't remember any of that if you hadn't brought it up" </p><p>"Damn it, I really do feel bad for the things I said. I know I'm... ugh, I understand that I... you know what, I suck. I do suck, and..." Edith stammered, which was so very rare it was like seeing an apparition. "I don't know, I suck even more when I'm hurt. And I took it out on you. Which I'm sorry for, and I understand if you hate me for it. It was wrong to assume we could... I don't even know. Get married, and then what? Be a normal couple? I get it that you don't really care about me, that you're here out of duty. And I'm thankful. I promise not to pry into your private life anymore" </p><p>Enough was enough. Enough was fucking enough. And she had the fucking nerve to cry? She had the nerve to let a tear drop down to her cheek, and she wiped it away, with the tip os a finger, as if it was nothing. She was exhausting, a brat, a spoiled little princess who needed a good dose of reality. And who better than Benedito Marcus Bianchi, the only one she allowed near her, to give it to her? All it took were four steps, and she was within reach, sitting down on her chair, so much shorter than him. Without even thinking, he dropped to his knees in front of her, placed his palms on her cheeks, and bent forward to kiss her. She tasted just like Marcus thought she would: like champagne and berries. And to think of all the hours he'd spent trying to think of what Edith would taste like, only to ignore the obvious: her drink of choice, and usual after-dinner snack. His heart wasn't beating anymore, it was simply going through rhytmic explosions, seconds apart, tearing through his body, wreaking havoc. None of them knew how long they'd been kissing, but it came to a natural halt, leaving them both panting, the bodyguard and the heiress, foreheads pressed together. </p><p>"How dare you say I don't care about you?" Marcus asked, looking into her aqua-coloured eyes with his dark-brown ones, his usually neatly-combed, equally dark-brown hair in disarray, even without him messing with it. "When I care about nothing else but you"</p><p>"Since when?" Edith asked, not even knowing what to think, let alone what to say. She'd been kissed before, everyone knew that. But she hadn't been kissed like that: like if she was port for a ship that had been around the world, a fireplace for a wanderer coming in from the rain, the comfort of home after being to war. Desperately, like a dying man's final breath. And he was beautiful, that man who was no longer the protegé, the right-hand man. Maybe that was why she didn't want to call him by his name anymore, why she wanted to change it: because he wasn't the same person, silent, demure, afraid to even look in her direction. He was the boss, he was powerful. And everything, from the curls that forced their way out of the restraints of hair gel, to the strong nose and defined cheeks, to the eyes that were deeper than all the water in the world, everything was beautiful about this new man.</p><p>"I've known it since I killed those girls for you, and didn't feel an inch of remorse" Marcus admitted, breathing in her scent, attempting to remember every bit of it, so that he could remember it when he no longer could be this close to her. "Threw them into the Hudson and didn't even feel guilty. All I could think about was all the things they'd said about you, and I hated them for it, I hated them to the point of emptying my gun on them, even when they were already dead" </p><p>"And you still stood by his side at our wedding" </p><p>"I still stood by his side at your wedding, to make sure you were happy. If you hadn't been, I would've said something, I would've grabbed you and ran. But no, you were happy, and I couldn't force myself to take it from you" </p><p>"I don't know what to say" Edith admitted, forcing Marcus to chuckle, his hands taking hers, almost as if he was begging for forgiveness. </p><p>"No need to say anything. I'm the one who shouldn't have told you this, shouldn't have kissed you without your permission, I'm sorry" he said, lowering his eyes, now on his knees not to reach her better, but to put himself at her mercy. </p><p>"No, don't be, I'm happy you told me, and I'm happy you kissed me. I am, really. Don't be sorry" she responded, making him look at her by taking his chin and tilting his head up. "I didn't know, I really didn't" </p><p>"Means I did a good job of hiding it. He didn't know either, or else I'd be dead right now" </p><p>"But you're not"</p><p>"I'm not. And to satisfy your curiosity, and because you already know everything else: I do work, everything works, and no, I'm not a virgin" Marcus informed, laughing at his own cheekiness, speaking about that particular subject with such an honourable lady, whom he adored above everything else.</p><p>"So they did let you have the girls Giovanni hired" Edith laughed along, somehow relieved to know. "And you went to the strip club"</p><p>"Yes, feel free to laugh" </p><p>"Not laughing! You think I don't know what men do when they have time to spare? I'd do it myself if there were men offering these services" she admitted, before a lightbulb went off in her head. "That would actually be a good idea. I'm sure there's money to be made with male escorts. We'd have my business, and I know of other women who would be on board"</p><p>"Alright, yeah, I can see that making a fair bit of money. I'll see what I can do" </p><p>"And please, don't beat yourself up for what you told me. I'm happy you told me" </p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>NSFW!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turned out, there were plenty of men offering escort services. The issue that they faced was similar to that of women doing the same job: threats, unsafe working conditions, and sometimes even coercion. Edith had talked to a couple of them, who seemed to be some sort of spokesmen, and had arrived to the conclusion that they were in need of protection, and of safe spaces to work, and live. As she had done with the female sex workers, granting them bodyguards, contracts of employment, liveable wages and health plaans, she proposed the same to the men who agreed to work for her. In exchange, she would get a percentage, as long as she guaranteed good working conditions. </p><p>"Do you think we'll be able to keep them safe and healthy? All of them?" Edith asked, looking over the living room. It was Sunday, the only day she took off from work, and from decisions. But this one was a bit different. It implied being responsible for the lives of people who had risky jobs, who were vulnerable. </p><p>"Of course. Since you wrote the rules for the girls, they've been much happier, and no one beats them anymore. It's... it's amazing" Marcus replied, knowing it to be true. He had visited the houses, and talked to the workers himself. </p><p>"I honestly hope you're right. I'm learning as I go. And one of them was quite handsome" Edith smirked, looking out the window. She'd even gotten his phone number, but didn't really want to call. How did it even work? She'd call, and he'd come to her house, and they'd... under the same roof as Marcus, who had admitted, not even a week earlier, that he had feelings for her? Not even Edith could be that cruel to someone she genuinely cared about. "I mean, I'm sure he'll uh... be in high demand" </p><p>"That's fine, you don't need to watch what you say for my sake. Go ahead, hire him. It's fine by me, just let me know when he's coming so I can give you some privacy" Marcus responded, reaching for his pocket out of instinct, and feeling the fresh piece of paper, giving him some reassurance, some comfort. "Here, here's the phone" </p><p>In the ensuing rush to leave the room, Marcus grabbed the phone, put it in the table in front of Edith, and dropped the paper he'd been holding, not even noticing what had happened. But she did, and as soon as the door closed behind his tall figure, she rushed to pick it up, forgetting all about the phone. It was an official looking document, with a lot of words she didn't recognise. At the end, the very end, was the name Marcus Bianchi, and attached to it, a driver's license, with the same moniker. It wasn't very obvious. In fact, it was as subtle as could be. But however small, however secret, Edith knew what it was: he'd changed his name, giving up his father's, because she said she didn't like Benedito. Somehow, it surpassed everything, everything anyone had ever done for her. </p><p>Maybe what sent her looking for him wasn't love, or not the kind of love she'd felt for Luca Changretta. Maybe Edith would never know a love like that again, but one thing was certain: that she had never been loved like Marcus Bianchi loved her, not even close. Not in his selfless, simple way, demanding nothing, demanding absolutely nothing, and giving her everything. Hell, he had even encouraged her to hire an escort, had given her the phone, had said he would get out of the house when the man arrived. Everyone who'd ever approached her wanted something from her, but not him. Not him, with his sweet eyes, his curly hair he insisted on smoothing down, his tall, well dressed figure. </p><p>Edith's first thought was that he had literally left the house, but she still went to his room, the guest one on the top floor. It was almost like the maid's quarters, but it did have an adjoining bathroom, from which the sound of falling water could be heard. Without giving it a second thought, she stripped down, opened the door, and tried to steady her breathing. Of course, his back was turned to the door, arms supporting his weight against the wall from which the showerhead hung, and the water ran in multiple little rivers down his skin. Not wanting to scare Marcus, she approached the shower cabin, and opened the door. If he noticed her there, he didn't say anything, didn't even turn his head, and only did it when Edith's hands slid from his ribs to his chest. It was then that she realised he was sobbing, as silently as humanly possible. </p><p>"Don't cry, please" she begged, kissing down his spine, trying to calm him down. </p><p>"I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming..." </p><p>"You're not. Of course not. I'm here. Please, don't cry. Hey, look at me" </p><p>He seemed to take forever to come to the conclusion that he should obey her. Deep down, Marcus knew he wasn't dreaming, simply because he could never feel her hands on his skin when he dreamed. Even more than that, he didn't really cry in his dreams, and he was bawling. Of course, there she was, not wearing any sort of clothing, as luminous as the sun. ittle droplets had landed on her hair, whereas the rest of her skin had gotten wet when she hugged him. At that point, Marcus didn't even give a damn that he was also not wearing anything. Just like him when they'd first kissed, her hands cupped his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss him. </p><p>"I saw your license" Edith said, looking up, since without her heels, he was easily more than one foot taller than her. </p><p>"Shit"</p><p>"It's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me, thank you" </p><p>"What part of I'm madly in love with you do you not understand?" Marcus asked, closing the already small space between the two of them, arms around her torso, non-intentionally picking her up off the floor. </p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What now? Hm?"</p><p>"What does that mean? Is there anything I forgot to do? Any papers that need my signature? Anything else you need?" Edith asked, rolling over, her blonde hair following her path. The room was warm, so only the sheet was needed, tangled in their limbs. </p><p>"No, that's not what I mean, damn" Marcus chuckled, a sweet sound Edith truly loved. The only thing she would rather listen to him make was moan. "Me and you. What do we do? What do you want to do?"</p><p>"Do I have to do anything? Do I need to decide? What is there to decide?"</p><p>"Decide whether I'm just the cheaper escort option" </p><p>"You're asking me if I feel anything for you. Or if it's just sex" Edith clarified, or thought she did. She'd never seen clearer eyes, she'd never seen anything more precious, and even innocent, than that man, that man who wasn't that much older than her, whose secrets she knew nothing about. </p><p>"Pity sex, to be precise. I want to know if you came looking for me, if you gave me what I wanted, what I needed, as a way to... placate me, to make sure I stayed in the business, that I didn't betray you" Marcus added, making her furrow her brow. How he'd come to that conclusion, she did not know, but one thing was for sure: such a thing had not crossed her mind, not even for a split second. "Because if that's what happened here, I'm not surprised, and I can't even blame you, can't fault you for that. But I need you to know that the partnership isn't dependent on whether you feel for me what I feel for you. One thing is business, another is heart, and I never, ever, want us to mix both. I don't want you to feel like you have to have sex with me to keep yourself safe. You don't"</p><p>"Do you always overthink like this everytime you have someone in your bed?"</p><p>"When it's the same someone who I run a business with... yes, I do" </p><p>"Honestly, business did not cross my mind. I saw you leave, and then I saw the driver's license, and all I could think of was how much you loved me. And then, and then, all I could think about was how much I wanted you" Edith confessed, laying on her stomach, hands beneath her chin. Marcus was on his back, so she decided to place her leg on top of his, which managed to get a chuckle out of him. </p><p>"You feel safe, then" </p><p>"I do, I feel very safe. Do you?" </p><p>"Yeah, I do. Your bed is comfortable, mine sucks compared to this. These feather pillows?" Marcus asked, finally relaxing a little bit, the sort of endorphine-enduced giddiness taking over him.</p><p>"Are you kidding? Of course these are feather pillows. Only the best for the queen" Edith boasted, laughing into her hands. "Didn't know you had all these tattoos"</p><p>"Don't we all? I mean, all the people I know who run with gangs have at least five"</p><p>"Five is one thing, another one is having your torso covered in them"</p><p>"You wanna know who they are? Here's mom..." Marcus indicated his left forearm. "...and aunt Moira, next to her. On my other arm, my dad and my grandad" </p><p>"Aww, that's so sweet. These from prison? War?" Edith asked, pointing at some stick-and-pokes, less neat than the others. There was a cross, a half-faded word, and several rows of initials.</p><p>"Prison. The charges were dropped, but it was for arson. Against Capone" Marcus confessed, shrugging. It was pretty obvious he didn't really want to talk about the subject, but there were no visible attempts to cover them up, to hide them. "And I've got a couple that are reproductions of what my dad and grandfather had, from the war" </p><p>"Wow, that's incredible. They're pretty" </p><p>"I like meaningful things. You want a spot? For your name?" </p><p>"My name? You're not serious" Edith gasped, completely caught by surprise. "No, no way, I can't let you do that"</p><p>"Why not? Shit, you're my business partner. Not to mention the only girl I've ever loved, why wouldn't I want your name on me? Your initials?" Marcus asked, furrowing his brow. It was pretty straight-forward to him, wasn't even that big of a deal. "Besides, people already think we're married, it would be fine to have your name on my skin" </p><p>"I guess. But no, please don't do that. Really, you're very sweet, but..."</p><p>"No worries, <em>vita mia</em>. I'm in your hands"</p><p>"Don't be. Get out, run away. You don't want me to be the one you give yourself to" Edith almost begged, snuggling into him, her nose touching his. "Find yourself a good girl, get out of this mess, go back to Nevada, live a perfect life" </p><p>"I didn't get here because I love you. I got here because I wanted to get here. My dad was with the Changrettas, and so was his father. It's what I know, and it's what I want. Don't worry, you don't have any of the fault. You know, you're the one who's here without wanting to be. You fell in love, which is something that you can't help" Marcus said, kissing the tip of her nose, and wrapping his arm around her. </p><p>"Also not quite true. I wanted to help sell Luca's alcohol, I had clients, I wanted to have my own money, didn't want to just be an heiress. I got myself here, too. Whatever I felt for him... and it was a lot, not gonna lie... it isn't what gotten me into this... I don't know if I'd call it mess, but yeah. You know what I mean" Edith countered, thinking back to those days, when she had Luca Changretta on call for whatever it was she wanted or needed. Shit, it seemed like it had been centuries since she'd seen his face, but it had been less than a year. Only now, Edith didn't feel the same tug to her heart when she thought about him. No, she only felt... peace, and freedom. She'd loved, she'd given her everything to the man she loved, and there was nothing she wanted to take back. But no one could call Edith a past-dweller; she prided herself in living in the present, and refused to do anything that hindered her happiness, whatever means necessary. </p><p>"You had money, but wanted to be self made. I get that" Marcus chuckled, propping his arms under the back of his head. "And self made you are, no one can deny that" </p><p>"If someone dares, I'll make sure to show them just how far the apple fell from the tree." </p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mrs. Bianchi..."</p><p>"You call me anything but Edith ever again, and I'll shoot your kneecaps" Edith informed, raising her eyes from the sheets of paper to the associate in question. She had no idea who the hell he was, but truth be told, it mattered very little. There were a lot of names to remember, and she didn't really have the time, energy, patience, or will to learn them. </p><p>"Do you even know where the kneecaps are located?" the same older, balding man asked. For good measure, he even looked down her blouse when they shook hands, and it was only mildly disgusting. Marcus had seen it too, and needed to refrain himself from killing the asshole. But no, there was nothing he could do, not if Edith didn't want him to. </p><p>"I do, actually. I believe they're a bit south of where your eyes were when we shook hands. Which, by the way, is grounds for me to shoot you in way more vital places, or have my husband do it for me" Edith shrugged. "Gosh, you are tiring, you know? You really are"</p><p>"Tiring or not, sweetheart, I am the one who handles shipment of bourbon to the old country. You need me" </p><p>"With all due respect, mr. Farsetti, ms. MacMillan does not need you to export bourbon. Is she not the one who handled meetings with the producers in Louisiana, with perfect results? Hell, they even agreed to have us as their exclusive exporters" Marcus let out, pinching the bridge of his nose. </p><p>"My God, boy... you are absolutely pussy-wipped" the same mr. Farsetti laughed, loud and until Edith reached for her thigh, and placed her revolver on the table, without a word. </p><p>"May be, mr. Farsetti, but please don't forget that this woman right here is the reason your mistress and second family have a ranch in Colorado, and food on the table. If it wasn't for her, this business would've crumbled long time ago. So, show some respect, or we'll be sure to tell mrs. Farsetti what is going on. Or, I don't know... this revolver, here?" Marcus pointed at Edith's rose gold weapon, made especially for her. "It shoots. And this woman here? She's got spectacular aim" </p><hr/><p>"I should've shot him" </p><p>"I couldn't let you do that. Why would you do that? More problems we don't need" </p><p>"I've yet to shoot something with it" Edith sighed, pouting slighty. She looked so beautiful, with the sun rays coming through the window of the Rolls-Royce she insisted on using every time she left the house. </p><p>"Ah well. I'll take you to the shooting range one of these days" Marcus promised, smiling to himself. She was funny when she wanted it to be, or maybe she didn't mean to be, it just happened. "You called me your husband" </p><p>"So? That not what they think you are to me? That not why we live in the same house without anyone going straight to the tabloids?" Edith enquired, not sure why it was such a big deal. It had been pretty easy for her to take that lie and run with it. Which... was mildly alarming, but she brushed it off kind of easily. </p><p>"I don't know. It came sorta easily. It doesn't to me. I mean, it's not easy for me to just call you my wife, it doesn't roll off the tongue" </p><p>"I'm a good actress! And a very good liar. I can lie to myself for days on end. And to others for even longer" she admitted, ooking out the passenger window, deciding not to look anywhere else. It was safer that way. "Should I call you anything else? Mr. Bianchi, maybe? Oh, or 'person I am in business and bed with'?" </p><p>"Please, not that. Anything but that" </p><p>"I never knew that this would be such a big thing. I'm sorry. Should I be sorry? Because I am" Edith quickly said, a bit lost. She hadn't really learned how to socially interact with Marcus yet. In all honesty, she didn't know how to socially interact with anyone she wasn't trying to use for something, let alone someone she actually cared about. Someone who... well, someone like him. Not Luca, not that kind of caring. But something out of the ordinary. </p><p>"Why sorry? You're such a clueless... For a socialite, you lack social skills" he mocked, turning to their street, and parking on their driveway. </p><p>"Lies! Oh my god, such a fucking lie. I do not lack social skills. I lack the ability to know how to speak to you. You know? Ugh, you're weird, and I've seen you naked" </p><p>"I've seen you naked, and I can still function" Marcus countered, even though his cheeks were bright red by the time he'd said those words.</p><p>"You're blushing: you cannot function. I don't even know why we're talking about this. Just call me Edith, Ill call you Marcus, and we call it a day" Edith concluded, leaning back on the car seat. </p><p>"Fine by me, <em>vita mia. </em>Far from me to argue with you" </p><p>"If you don't argue with me, I'll have no one to argue with. No one on my level, at least. And I love to argue" she responded, making Marcus laugh. It actually was true, she was excellent at arguing, and it didn't have to be hostile either: she liked to discuss current affairs, politics, society shit... you name it. She just really liked to talk about things. </p><p>"Fine, I get what you mean. I'll argue with you when you want me to. That ok?" </p><p>"That ok" </p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So uh heavy trigger warning for some heavy stuff!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The funny part of being in a business partnership was that there was always someone there to comment things with later, or to exchange looks with on the spot. Edith had never bothered to go to meetings with her husband Luca, but since his death, she'd stepped into his place, and her presence was required for there to even be a meeting. Marcus, her partner, was pretty good at poker face, but there were moments when the hint of laughter crossed his eyes. It always made Edith smile, and managed to break the boredom of hearing old men talking about their mistakes, asking her in covert ways for her to fix them. </p><p>"Any chance of me getting some champagne?" Edith asked, sprawled over the sofa, not even taking of her heels. They were second nature to her, to the point where she didn't notice the difference in comfort. </p><p>"Way ahead of you" Marcus replied, entering the sitting room with a champagne flute, and handing it to her. "You ask me the same thing every day"</p><p>"I know, and every day you are ahead of me, and every day I say thank you, and every day you smile like that, and every day I like to see you smile like that" she admitted, taking the flute, and sipping on it carefully, so that her signature red lipstick didn't get ruined.</p><p>"You ever think that I bring you champagne before you ask because I like the way you smile when I do it" </p><p>Edith smiled into her flute, but the smile faded quickly. She liked the company, she liked the companionship, she liked the banter, the friendship. But there was no way she could let it go on forever. Marcus was young (turns out he was twenty-six, a mere three years older than herself), had all his life ahead of him, and plenty of time to find a good woman, someone he could seriously love, build a life and a family with. The thought of it made her stomach turn, but Edith did have a heart, even if her kindness only extended to Marcus and to the people who worked under her, and had no agency of themselves in the business. </p><p>"We can't do this anymore" she blurted out, without even thinking about it. </p><p>"I'm sorry, what? Are you drunk?" </p><p>"No. No, I've never been more sober. Marcus, we can't do this, I cannot do this to you. I will never want to have children, I will never want to have a normal life. And I can't take it from you" she clarified. Now, there was nothing to be done: what had been a vague thought, something she swept under the rug, stalling as much as she could, was now out in the open. Better late than never, right? Doing the right thing was so foreign to her, and it hurt so fucking much she almost cried. </p><p>"What the fuck are you talking about?" Marcus asked, sitting on a random chair, not fully convinced he had heard Edith right. She sometimes didn't have a very good way of saying what she meant, and it could be one of those occasions... although it was strange. Well, stranger than usual, he guessed. "What exactly are you taking from me?"</p><p>"I'm saying that I am keeping you from having an actual marriage, an actual family. What about that was hard to understand?"</p><p>"What about it is hard to... The part where you're fucking assuming I want what you're calling an actual family? Who told you that? Oh, right, no one did, you just assumed, because... you know what, I'll shut up" Marcus caught himself before flinging himself off a very high cliff. One there was no coming back from, actually. </p><p>"Finish that sentence. Finish it" Edith demanded, sitting up. There went her calm and relaxing afternoon, because of her own lack of filter between brain and mouth. And even someone so self-absorbed as Edith MacMillan knew when shit was her own fault. "Come on, finish it" </p><p>"Fuck this, I'm not gonna say anything. Forget it, alright? Youre not taking anything from me. It's fine. Let's just... Let's just not do this, please" Marcus scoffed, wondering just how Edith had come to such a dumb conclusion. He was already tired, already hungry, and now he was having to defend the relationship they'd built, from literally nothing. </p><p>"Say it, Marcus! Come on. I'm asking you to" </p><p>"You just assumed, because when you look at me, you see him, you still see him, and see in me what he wanted. There you go, I said it. And I hate myself for fucking saying it, but it's true"</p><p>The air around them froze, and the atmosphere changed with it. There were no longer only two people in the room: suddenly, there were two more, and, although invisible, their presence was overwhelming. Marcus saw them, and Edith did too, her heart beating too fast, but feeling like it wasn't beating at all. The weight of words unsaid became suffocating, and not even she could say a word. </p><p>"How dare you" Edith ended up saying, unable to even think of anything more elaborate. "How dare you..."</p><p>"You needed to hear it. You needed to know that I knew, and that it's all in your head. What you say you're keeping me from... it's not real. I never wanted children, never wanted a quiet life, with a quiet wife. Never even wanted to get married, either for real or for show. So you're not depriving me of anything" Marcus responded, the acidic taste of guilt rising from his stomach to his throat. He'd never said anything like that to anyone, let alone to Edith, whose mere existence made him question his atheist beliefs. </p><p>"You need to go. You need to go, please. The both of you, please go, I can't look at you" Edith whispered, her eyes going from angry, to displaying the purest form of fear and grief. By then, Marcus was sure that it wasn't him she was talking to, but rather the spectral presences in the room. As for who she was seeing, it wasn't hard to guess, and the thought alone made a shiver run up and down his spine. </p><p>"It's not real, <em>vita mia</em>, they're not real, come on, don't be scared" Marcus gained the courage to say, fighting his own panic to be able to reach her, pulling her into his arms, although she fought with all her power, hands over her eyes, shaking like a fragile flower in a storm. "It's alright, you're safe"</p><p>"They want me to go with them. They ask me to, every day" Edith said, her voice shaking, strained. </p><p>"And do you want to?"</p><p>"After everything I said? After what I've done, after refusing to even look at my child? How can I ever hope to be forgiven? I stay up at night thinking about how it should be me, how I'm the one who should've died. If Clive was still alive, if it had been me who died, everything would be different. He was a good man, he would've been an amazing father, if only that bitch hadn't... and you know what the worst part is? I encouraged him to marry her. Told him she was sweet, that she would be a good wife. Little did I know she'd spread her legs to some back-alley wannabe mobster. And when she died, I was happy. I really was, she had it coming. But then... but then the wannabe mobster took everything from me. And although I have hated Luca every second of every day since I got that telegram, although I wish he burns in hell for all eternity for breaking every promise... I know, deep down I know I'll be joining him one day. And Marcus... I can't wait. I can't wait to see him again"</p><p>"I know" he acknowledged, because it really was true: he'd known it all along, it wasn't like it was a secret that Edith's heart had been dead and buried for as long as Luca Changretta himself had been dead and buried. "I know it's him you love. And it hasn't stopped me from loving you. I sometimes wonder if I would love you if you didn't love him, or worse: if I would love you if he didn't" </p><p>"I don't know, either" Edith admitted, her body steadying, little by little. "I never thought I'd be the kind of woman who saw ghosts, or who admitted she would rather be dead than without her husband"</p><p>"Doesn't make you any less strong and powerful. Quite the contrary: even in the worst pain of them all, you were able to keep this boat afloat, even better than he ever could. Hell, better than anyone ever could" Marcus responded, able to make her smile. "Listen, I know you can never love me like I love you. But I don't hold it against you, and I never feel like I want something more. I'm serious when I say I never wanted a family; the mere thought of having a baby makes me sick to my stomach"</p><p>"Me too. It did before, too. With him it was different, because I knew that whatever I did wrong, he'd do right" she agreed, thinking back to the days where there was nothing in the world that mattered aside from wedding dress fittings and flower selection, when all eyes were on her, but she was all eyes for him. Never did Edith think she would be losing the groom, to end up in the arms of the best man. </p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Perfection was almost always overrated, with it being so hard to achieve and all. But once one got a glimpse of it, something became very clear: that in that fleeting moment, all the theories of non-believers were wrong: perfection was actually underrated. As one of the luck few who had experienced such a thing, Marcus Bianchi knew how to appreciate it, to value it in a way that mattered, and that he could never forget. In the faintly sunlit bedroom of the woman he loved, watching her brush her hair, with long, careful strokes, angels and goddesses would pale in comparison to such overwhelming beauty. Even the way the tips of her blonde strands brushed against the blushed pink of the nightgown, projecting the dimmest of shadows, was too good to be true. And the voice inside his head said it, with all the right words: <em>una bellezza più grande della vita. </em>Of course, only Italian would be able to convey that woman, to convey her languid motions, and the strength in her apparent vulnerability. </p><p>"I don't have the words" Marcus whispered, so silently it was almost impossible to take note that he had spoken, let alone understand what he'd said. Truth be told, the man himself wasn't sure of what he meant by that, almost as if his voice was being used as an instrument, depriving him of his own free will. The sensation was quick to go away, as quick as it had been to come by. Likewise, the silence that had fallen onto him after his ill-placed, loose sentence, went away in a flash. </p><p>"I understand that it's Summer, and I also understand that the planet goes around the sun, and there is nothing I can do against it... not for lack of trying of course; but surely it should be dark by now? I'm on brush stroke number sixty-seven, there's still light outside. Surely it should be illegal. Think of the damage it will do to my skin! I'll have wrinkles, and... oh god, I don't even... I don't want to speak it into existence" Edith let out, with her signature pouty bottom lip. She had no makeup on, but there were some traces of her red lipstick, which was like a second skin to her. </p><p>"I'll see what I can do to make the sun go down faster" Marcus mocked, taking a book from the nighstand and opening it. "In the meantime, why don't you step away from the window? That way, you'll be more protected against the dreaded wrinkles" </p><p>"Hm. Well, but if I move, how will I spy on the next door neighbours?" she enquired, seeing absolutely no harm in prying on other people's lives. What was more, she was thoroughly convinced everyone did everything near windows exactly so that others could see what they were doing, which wasn't that outlandish of a theory. </p><p>"What are they doing that is worth spying on?" he asked back, turning on his stomach, furrowing his brow as he read. "Murder, arson? Maybe a good old-fashioned case of adultery" </p><p>"No, they're trying to feed a toddler, who's throwing an epic tantrum. Ugh, I do despise young children, they're so... time consuming. And you can't even get them drunk to make them more amicable, you just have to grin and bear it" </p><p>"Pretty sure my dad gave me vodka when I was little, for me to go to sleep faster" Marcus remembered, from his collection of very vague, mildly unpleasant chldhood memories. Nothing against his dad, who was a good man, and a good father for his six kids; but he wasn't very affectionate, nor was he a fan of the 'grin and bear it' approach Edith had certainly been showered in when she herself was a toddler. </p><p>"See, that's what sleeping pills are for. To think of wasting perfectly good alcohol to get a kid to sleep... outrageous" Edith shuddered, the corners of her mouth turned down in horror. "I myself take valerian quite often, and it works wonders" </p><p>"You're a grown woman, <em>vita mia</em>"</p><p>"And? I would argue my life is much more precious than the life of a useless kid. I run a business, people depend on me to live. No toddler can say the same"</p><p>She did have a point... a controversial point, but a valid one. Marcus did have two nephews and a niece, but he didn't really know them very well, didn't even know their correct ages. In his defense, they'd managed to come into the world when he was in prison, hence the little contact between him and the kids. There should be a picture of them somewhere in that house, but he wouldn't know its exact whereabouts. </p><p>"Pray tell, do you rehearse the heresy, or does it come naturally?" Marcus ended up asking, looking at his beloved as he tried to contain a smirk. "Have you set foot into a church? Like, ever?" </p><p>"Oh, it comes naturally. I would never rehearse anything, it could jeopardize my natural charisma and allure" Edith scoffed, putting down the brush, and running her fingers through the strands of gold, to make sure there wasn't a single knot in there. Satisfied with her work, she turned to Marcus, finally giving up on the tragic family scene she'd been observing. "And yes, I've been to church; I was forced to enter one for a marriage preparation course, and then for the wedding cerimony itself. And no, I didn't feel a burning sensation when I stepped inside"</p><p>"God was probably feeling merciful that day. Everyone who knows you knows you're part human, part Satan" Marcus joked, seriously trying to imagine Edith MacMillan attending a marriage preparation course, being told all sorts of things that would end up as a blueprint for what she would never do. Strangely enough, the thought of serious, borderline gloomy Luca Changretta next to her only added to the humour of that mental image. </p><p>"Excuse me? That's madam Satan to you, mortal"  Edith replied, one eyebrow raised, cheeks full of air, trying to contain her laughter. "Do you go to church?"</p><p>"I actually do, believe it or not! Not al of us are godless heathens, you know?"</p><p>"I'm not a godless heathen! I do have a religion. It's called Tiffany's, and I attend mass very regularly" she exclaimed, with fake shock. </p><p>"My bad, sorry, I forgot" Marcus apologised, making room for Edith to come to bed, and get under the covers, with her ten thousand pillows. In her hands, a copy of some ladies magazine, where an article explained how best to achieve an elegant hairdo. It had diagrams, and images of how to do it, but Marcus knew, even without trying, that he would never be able to reproduce it. As for her, she didn't even need to try: she could just be taken her usual hairdresser's and get it done on the spot, without her feet even touching the floor. </p><p>"What are you reading?" Edith asked, peaking over her magazine, in one of the rare moments when she acknowledged there were people in the world besides herself. </p><p>"<em>The Sun also Rises</em>. Have you read it?" </p><p>"Are there pictures?" </p><p>"No" </p><p>"So no, I haven't. Go to sleep, it's a big day tomorrow" Edith demanded, although she was still surveying the pages of her literature, this time looking at nail varnish samples. </p><p>"Are you sure? We can cancel" Marcus said, repeating the same sentence for the hundredth time. </p><p>"No, no way. I want to meet him. I wonder if he'll be able to look me in the eye" Edith mused, looking up at the ceiling. "You know what, I don't think he'll have a problem with that. He'll probably try to seduce me... or at least that's what I've heard"</p><p>"I'll be there to break his face if he tries"</p><p>"Oh, don't worry; I'll break it myself" </p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW for a variety of things!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New York was completely different from Birmingham. The buildings were so tall the tops touched the sky, and no faces were familiar. The trip hadn't been the most pleasant, but Tommy Shelby was determined to get to the new country, to start conversations with the Italians, regarding their beverage business. Needless to say, he had hesitated before even putting out the word that he was interested, but the gentleman in charge of the business now, along with his female partner, seemed eager to strike a deal. Their only condition was that the head of Shelby Brothers Limited made the trip to the USA, so that everything could be signed, and they could all make sure everyone was on the same page. </p><p>"Mr. Shelby, right this way" </p><p>There was a long, dark corridor, that ended up broadening into a meeting room. It was still empty, but the man who had welcomed him asked him to sit, which Tommy gladly did. Again, he couldn' say he was comfortable; so much so that he had his hand on his revolver, inside his jacket pocket. The chairs were comfortable, and the teakwood table had received a coat of beeswax recently, its scent floating around the space. As soon as he sat down, Tommy put on his glasses and took out his notepad, making sure that he had all the details about this business in front of him when the people he was meeting arrived. </p><p>It didn't take them long to enter the room. As expected, there were two: a man and woman, both around the same age, and both younger than Tommy himself. The man was tall, broad, with sleeked back brown hair, and equally brown eyes; the woman was much more remarkable, blonde hair, blue eyes, and the sort of stunning beauty that wars were fought over. </p><p>"Mr. Shelby, I'm Marcus Bianchi, this is Edith MacMillan" the man stated, extanding his hand to Tommy, who got up to shake it. The woman didn't even look in his direction, just went straight to sitting down, and crossing her legs, a cigarette between her lips. "Thank you for meeting us here, it makes everything so much easier for us" </p><p>"Not a problem. I am hoping that this deal between us will make things much easier for me and my family" Tommy replied, adjusting his spectacles and looking at the two partners with curiosity. He didn't know why, but the feeling of being watched, of being in danger, increased significantly with every second he spent with them, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was that made him uncomfortable. "We have gin, and rum to sell, and we can help you sell bourbon, and wine, too" </p><p>"Interesting how you go straight to business, without even acknowledging the elephant in the room. Or should I say elephants?" the young woman said, taking the cigarette inbetween her middle and index fingers, forcing a beam of light to bounce off the spectacular diamond she wore on her ring finger. </p><p>"Pardon?" </p><p>"Did you come to the USA to meet with us before doing due dilligence on who you'd be meeting?" Marcus Bianchi asked, leaning back on the chair. "Because we have done due dilligence on you, mr. Shelby" </p><p>"I was led to believe this organisation was under new, fresh management. The kind that cared very little with the past" Tommy responded, his heart picking up pace. "The kind that put lucrative business over past grievances. In fact, my sources tell me that you, mr. Bianchi, took over from the Changrettas, and that there was no love loss between you and your old boss" </p><p>"You'll find, mr. Shelby, that whatever there is or isn't between me and the Changrettas matters very little for this conversation. Furthermore, your lack of understanding and your misinformation, although encouraged by us, is incredibly disappointing" Marcus informed, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. "What can I say, I expected more from you"</p><p>"It just goes to show that he's good when it's in his territory, but take him away from England, and he's as mortal as the rest of them" Edith, said, with a tone Tommy hoped never to hear again. "You know, mr. Shelby, I looked forward to seeing you, to meeting you. I wamted to see the face of the man who did all those things. And I discover now that you're nothing. You really are nothing, without whoever it is that helps you. You look weak, sitting there" </p><p>"And what is it that you expected to see in me, ms. MacMillan?" Tommy asked, torn between actual curiosity, and spite. There was also a hint of anger in his voice, as he was entirely too arrogant to allow someone to talk to him in that way. </p><p>"Are you serious? Shit, people really are like toys to you. You only care when it's one of yours who's killed. If anyone dies for you to have what you want, so be it. Incredible" Marcus scoffed. "Does this woman's last name mean nothing to you? Do you even recognise it? Do you even care?"</p><p>Tommy had to admit that it took him a bit to remember, and it didn't make him more at ease to level with those two hard-hitters. Of course, it had been Clive MacMillan who had taken his own life after Grace left him... when Grace left him for... </p><p>"You're his sister? Niece?" Tommy asked, forcing himself to look at the young woman called Edith. </p><p>"Sister. But we're forgetting something, aren't we? Because, you know, maybe you didn't pull the trigger on my brother. But you were the reason why he took his own life. Now, there is blood on your hands from killings you carried out yourself" Edith countered, unable to stay seated any longer, and placing her palms flat against the table, her piercing eyes nearly burning Tommy alive. </p><p>"Mr. Shelby, you shouldn't have come here alone. You shouldn't have trusted whatever information it was that you got. Even worse, you forgot that there are laws, bigger than you and me, older than any of us here. We are, however, sorry for not handing you this earlier" Marcus added, taking something from his inner jacket pocket, and throwing it at Tommy. It was a piece of paper, folded twice, which he opened to reveal something he'd seen before: a black hand, imprinted firmly on the white canvas. </p><p>"And why now?" Tommy asked, not even scared anymore, simply accepting his fate, and taking refuge in curiosity. "I thought I had done you a favour. Gave you power, mr. Bianchi" </p><p>"It might surprise you, but there are mre important things than power" Marcus replied, fighting the urge to take Edith's hand, give her some comfort before she carried out what she had to do. In reality, she didn't seem to need it, as the determination was radiating from her, heightening with each second she was forced to share a room with Tommy Shelby. </p><p>"Such as?" the Birmingham boss asked, crossing his arms. He wasn't alone, there were some Blinders with him, positioned outside the building ready to make their entrance if it was needed. And it would apparently, be very necessary that they did so. </p><p>"Such as family, Tommy Shelby. Such as a husband, and a father" Edith informed, a strange calm washing over her. "You lost your wife, I lost my husband... you took your revenge, now I'll take mine. It's how things are done. You couldn't actually think you'd get away with what you did"</p><p>"You can't be serious. You can't possibly be serious" Tommy laughed nervously, something so foreign to her it almost hurt his soul. Several lifetimes had passed since he had laughed like that, and lifetimes had passed since he felt the acidic burn of fear rising to his mouth. Because that woman, no matter how young, was dead serious: she was going to carry out her revenge, and Tommy was losing any hope of leaving that meeting room alive. "Fuck me, you were married to Luca Changretta. And just because I killed him, you're going to kill me. And you've children?"</p><p>"That's none of your business. I don't even know why... you know what, screw it" </p><p>Those were the last words Edith MacMillan spoke to Tommy Shelby, and also the last words Tommy Shelby heard. Having lost her patience, the heiress took her gun, and shot him, right between the eyes. It was a sad death, far from noteworthy, far from heroic; but honour was honour, and Tommy couldn't be left alive. With his demise, Edith could breathe again, and it made her understand why Luca, her beloved Luca, had demanded going to the UK himself: this relief was magical. </p><p>"You alright?" Marcus asked, worried for no reason: Edith had never felt better in her whole life. </p><p>"I feel great. Tell our men to kill the rest of them, and dump the bodies. I don't want them buried, I want them burnt, or thrown to the river. Make sure it gets done" she demanded, getting up, turning her back to the corpse of what used to be Tommy Shelby, and marching out of the room, deadset on going home, her vengeance finally complete. And yes, it made her feel better, but not well enough to be able to take a much needed nap without her sleeping pills. </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thank you so much for reading this absolutely wild story!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR BASICALLY EVERYTHING PERTAINING TO MENTAL HEALTH. Please don't read if you're sensitive to topics such as suicide, and please know that I don't condone, or agree with the things the characters say. Please PLEASE seek professional help if this hits home in any way shape or form. PLEASE</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wherever she went, her heels clicked on the floor, simply because there was no noise, no one else around to disturb the peace of the center of the universe. The place vaguely looked like New York, to the point where some streets and alleys looked familiar. Edith MacMillan didn't know where she was going, but let her feet lead the way, not caring one bit about the destination. Her steps were light, and she had nowhere to be, a fact made obvious by the absence of a watch on her wrist. That would've driven her crazy in the real world, but this was as far from the real world as possible, Edith knew it, despite not being told. Here, time was not important, it was non-existent; and the more she tried to question how she'd gotten there, the less she felt the need to. What was important was that this was her new reality, brought about by what could've been an excessive dose of sleeping pills. If that was the case, it was of no consequence, it was actually a blessing, because she felt weightless, calm, for the first time in her life. </p><p>After taking a considerable amount of steps, Edith suddenly remembered where she was going: to the home she shared with Luca. Of course, how could she forget? Where would she even go, if not home? It looked exactly the same, the door wide open being the only difference from the memories she had from that place. There were figures moving inside, and Edith could identify one of them straight away: Clive, wearing his suit, happily chatting to a man she had only seen pictures of. </p><p>"Is that so? Oh well, I would much rather have a place in London. Birmingham is so dirty" Clive was saying as she approached. Once he saw his little sister, his face lit up in a wide smile, and he hugged her tightly. "Dittie! I missed you! Come here, let me introduce you to Vincente, he has been telling me about his business in the UK" </p><p>"Hi, how do you do?" Edith asked, extending her hand to the man named Vincente, who was a great deal older than the two of them, and who had apparently lost the ability to speak, eyes transfixed by the sight of her. </p><p>"I was looking forward to meeting you" Vincente ended up saying, taking her hand and kissing the air above her knuckles. "He's told us all about you, and I feel like I know you already" </p><p>"Oh, that's very kind of you to say..." Edith started, but then the figure of Audrey Changretta appeared, accompanied by a younger man, possibly in his thirties, who bore the lady's features. The sight of her mother-in-law, whom she had seen dead and buried, made Edith shudder, but it had to be real, simply because the woman hugged her tightly, and Edith could feel a heartbeat, could feel warmth, could feel her presence. This wasn't a dream, far from it: this was the realest thing that she had ever experienced. </p><p>"Come, come, lunch is almost ready" Audrey said, letting her go, and guiding her to the table. "Angel, go grab the turkey. And where is your brother?" </p><p>Edith felt him before she could see him. Although she deep down knew he would be there, the mere thought of... it was the only thing that would convince this was her new reality, the only thing that would guarantee she would never have to leave... She turned away from the table as slowly as humanly possible, waiting for the illusion to burst, but it didn't. She turned, and there he was: tall, slim, wearing the best made suit in all the world, dark eyes, and sharp cheeks. </p><p>"We were waiting for you" Luca Changretta said, the closest thing to a smile creeping onto his lips. Of course, she looked every bit as beautiful as when he had last seen her, even with the expression of shock and doubt. He'd felt the same when he'd arrived, but his father and brother had showed him this was real; he would do the same with her. "Took you long enough" </p><p>"I uh... didn't know you were... waiting for me. I'd have come earlier if..." Edith started, already crying halfway through her sentence. Sure, she'd missed her brother, and she had even missed Audrey in a strange way. But it was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to how much she missed Luca. And the way he held her, the way he picked her up off the floor, the way he kissed her... it was real, it was the only thing that had ever been real. </p><p>"You're here now, huh? That's what matters. And there's someone here who has been asking for you" Luca replied, turning around and picking up a small child from the floor. It was a boy, sitting on the floor, playing with some wooden toys. A boy with raven hair and aquamarine-coloured eyes. "Matteo, look who's here" </p><p>The baby looked up, and his whole face lit up with happiness, his small little arms raised toward Edith. As strange as it was, she could see herself in the little one, although that hair was anything but hers. Even stranger, was how right it felt to hold this boy, how right it was to have Luca looking over them, his hand on her lower back, where it had always belonged. My god, it was like no time had gone by at all, like she had never lost them at all. And from then on, she would never lose them again, and everything was where it was supposed to be. </p>
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